


Every Aching Old Machine Will Feel No Pain

by dandywarholic



Category: Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: BIG OL SPOILERS, F/M, Gay Cowboys, Its a big oof, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 6 AND BEYOND, Slow Burn, Smut in the later chapters, Supernatural Elements, arthur morgan is a cryptid, i repeat arthurs a damn cryptid yall, its a little bit until john/arthur, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 02:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17296325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandywarholic/pseuds/dandywarholic
Summary: A golden buck approached him and gave him a gift that he didn't think he deserved.Said he had a heart purer than he knew.





	1. Here I Lay

Of all the ways he imagined himself dying, he didn’t think he deserved it to be one overlooking the sunrise.   
  
The chill of the mountains freezing his skin as he struggled on his last breaths. The pain and agony so severe that it became a numbed sensation of peace. The wildlife lived without him below the mountain, unknowing of his turmoil.   
  
He doubted Mr. Downes got to see the light coming in over the trees, too bright yet so soft on his blurred vision. The feeling of betrayal and sadness that was fresh from Dutch’s exit only an afterthought now as he focused on the hope that the sun promised. Morgan was thankful for the entity that allowed him to have this.   
  
And the fact that John, _John,_ was out. He was able to give him that freedom. Even as much as he wanted to be there next to him.. To take care of the kid and Abigail, Tilly, Charles, everyone.. It satisfied him knowing that it wasn’t all in vain. That Dutch and Micah’s chaos didn’t have to consume all of them here in the end. That when the sun came up there was hope.

 

Arthur Morgan shut his eyes for the last time.

  


_Loud huffing was heard nearby. The clicking of hooves. An animal to feast, perhaps, as it neared a fresh body. It’s snout was nuzzling at the neck of a beaten and bruised man and snorted unsatisfactory. The actions were cautious as it nudged the man’s head farther to the side then scraped a hoof at the ground._

_  
_ _It’s coat was golden and healthy and it wore it’s intricate antlers upon it’s head with pride. It’s muscles rippling under the sunlight as it seemed frustrated with an answer. It’s beady eyes looked blank as it cocked it’s head, but held wisdom that no man could process._

  
_The buck overlooked the mountainside once before lowering it’s head to huff one more time at the fallen man._  
  
Breath-- Breathing-- It was willed into him.   
  
To Arthur Morgan, a dead man.   
  
At least, it was _supposed_ to be air, it was mostly wheezing and choking on the gift he was given. It was suggested that he had consciousness in there somewhere. He could hear his own rasping breaths in his ears, but his world was darker than any sleep he’s known.   
  
There was no pain and no confusion. A mere moment of bliss as he laid there in an in between worlds. In hindsight, a terrifying thing to look back on, but existing there was still so peaceful. Quiet. Nothingness.  
  
_“Wake up Arthur Morgan.”_  
  
His swollen eyes blinked. Another wheeze. The taste of thick copper and dirt were on his tongue and the pain all came rushing back. Turned to nausea as he felt the world starting to spin but it relaxed as he tried for another breath.  
  
Then another.   
  
As he slowly came to understand his situation, he looked up at a deer. He could have sworn he heard a familiar voice coming from it.  
  
“H…” He tried. “Hosea…?” The man’s voice was so ragged it was hardly able to leave his mouth. Even when it did, blood dripped from his lips.

  
_The buck cocked it’s head then took a step to the left and raised it’s head, practically showing off it’s beautiful, strong form. But it also seemed to be looking at him. He felt he recognized it--_   
  
_“I have been watching your actions,”_ The voice called again and Arthur blinked his weary eyes. “ _There are few that have come through this forest with a heart as yours. It was never as rotten as you thought it to be. Not in the beginning, not in the end.”_   
  
It was _certainly_ Hosea’s voice, distant and close at the same time. It wasn’t making a lick of sense to him neither. Why was he hearing this, why _him,_ and why _now?_   
  
“‘M I upstairs.....?” Arthur’s voice was stronger now yet incredulous. Didn’t feel like Heaven, that was for sure, but it was definitely no Hell.   
  
_“I’m giving you another chance, Arthur Morgan.”_   
  
_The buck turned to start walking away. It’s glowing fur reflected so brightly against the stone. Just the sight alone left a new sense of chill in Arthur's bones._   
  
_“Take care of this mountain, for it will always be your final resting place.”_   
  
_Hosea’s voice drifted as the buck walked off. The hooves clacked against the stones with a relaxed pace. It didn’t answer any questions or give reassurances. And in a way, it was crueler than leaving him to die._  
  
There was a number of ways to react to all of this, but exhaustion was weighing too heavy on him. Really, he didn't even properly know what was real and what could be fake.  
  
So Arthur shut his eyes again but this time he would get to open them again.   
  
This time it was sleep that befell him, rather than the cold clutches of death, for the mountain willed it so. His breath stayed shallow rattling in his chest with every inhale, but stayed consistent. Alive.


	2. A Kind Widow

 

 

Afternoon wildlife stirred to take advantage of the sun in the sky. The birds were active and chirping and it got an alive man grip back to consciousness. The calls were of ones that he recognized, Hosea had given him small education of bird calls one year where they found themselves near the mountains in his youth.

 

Never really used the information much but it was good to know for times when you’re laying half dead on a mountain top and wondering what kind of bird woke you up.

 

It was a black-throated green warbler, for those interested.

 

Time felt weird to him right now, it feeling slow and distant. Whenever he closed his blackened eyes it felt like it would stop but then resume when he opened them again. He couldn’t quite think straight, but a haunted feeling was instilled in his gut. If he wasn’t in so much pain he would have assumed that all of last night was a dream.

 

_John._

 

 _“_ Rrgh,” Arthur growled out as he forced himself to move, “Hell….”

 

Somehow, movement felt easier than last night. Not exactly a hard feat, but for a man supposed to be dead it was shocking enough for him to even be able to pull himself away from the place he found to die. He couldn’t concentrate on this though. He had to make it to John. To the others.

 

 _I’d only be a burden. They had enough on their minds to worry about a dying fool._ He thought to himself, but shuffled onward anyway. Stubbornly fighting on despite his scathing thoughts. As always.

 

The atmosphere continued to feel off. The amount of time that it took him to half crawl down the mountain was a mystery. The sun was still in the sky yet he knew it must have taken him hours. All of the small breaks he had to take and time it took for his body to make it down the rocky cliffs. The time spent waiting for his severe coughing fits to end. He was beginning to wonder if he was dead again and this really was the afterlife.

 

It wasn’t hell, so clearly something wrong happened.  A mistake from the big guy upstairs, or that.. Buck?

 

The grass at the bottom of the rocky terrain was so welcoming and plush. It was beginning to bring tears to his eyes, he crumpled completely to the ground just to run his fingers through the soft blades.

 

_He had made it._

 

Arthur didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a couple tears start to dampen his cheeks. He let it happen, his shaky body worsening as he broke into an ugly sob, there, now at the bottom of the mountain he was supposed to be dead at.

 

He yelled out out as loud as he could manage, it was half broken and ugly as the rest of him and he broke into a long string of coughs. Long enough until he was heaving and struggling to keep air in his lungs, but he stayed alive. Even when his vision blurred, even when he felt the ground feeling to slip from under him as he knew he was laying down.

 

“Oh my goodness!” There was another voice he could hear it over his coughing, “Sir—“

 

It was a woman, no, not any woman. It was _Charlotte_ , that metropolitan turned farmer he helped weeks back. What brought her here? Why was fate going so easy on him?

 

“What happened to you!?” Concern was thick in her voice and she was suddenly so close and doing her best to help him up even with all his attempts to wave her away.  The coughing kept racking his ribs and prevented him from pushing her away, to hide his shame of being half a man crying out here at the end of a mountain. Beaten. Sad.

 

And while she wasn’t the strongest yet, she has been doing all of the work on her own without a manly set of hands. And Arthur, well, Arthur was too light for a man his size. Practically all bone. She remembers burying her husband and could never forget the weight of a dead body.

 

Even getting Arthur on her horse was easier than it should have been.

 

“I’ll get you home. You can’t die out here.” Those words felt so distant as he clung loosely to an unfamiliar horse. He didn’t know if he was still crying or not, his vision feeling spotty and eyes wanting to close again.

 

“Oh, Arthur.”

 

-

 

When he woke up this time he was lying prone in a dressed up bed. He recognized it, he’s stayed there before. There was soup sitting on the nightstand paired with a cup of water.  His body complained every second he moved to grab at both but fought through it. The water first—

 

It felt like as it slid down his throat it was clearing out everything in its wake. Albeit, his mouth still tasted like blood and dirt, but it was like the liquid was laced with gold. Swallowing was still trouble, but each time it felt easier. He finished it too early.

 

And as for food, his enemy for the last couple months, it never looked so good. Even for such a basic looking stew. Water, potato, carrots, and rabbit, he would guess. And sure, he was struggling to hold the spoon, but he managed a bite and it didn’t immediately come back up. Even though it made him feel sick, he didn’t _get_ sick, and it was the first meal he was able to keep down for a while. The improvements were so minor yet so astonishing.

 

That golden buck came to mind again. It’s words, it’s aura. Arthur wanted to draw it to make sure it wouldn’t leave him mind but— His pack. He had given it to John.

 

 _John_.

 

Determination filled him again and he started to try and get out of bed, but the timing was just right. A women with hands covered in rabbit blood entered the room to see a stubborn fool.

 

“What are you doing? Lay back down!” Charlotte has never scolded him before and it sounded odd coming from such a relaxed soul.

 

“ _I’m fine.”_ He drawled out but she was too persistent. Helped him back into bed and made him lay down.

 

“If only you were standing where I am. It’s not a very convincing ‘fine.’” The words were warm. Charlotte was too sweet for her own good and she went over and took the empty dishes with a small smile. “You saved my life. The least I could do is try and pay you back."

 

Wouldn’t be considered a great nurse, she had no idea what she was doing. While he had slept she managed to wash off all that blood and grime from his face and rinsed any open wounds. And prayed. She prayed a lot for him.

 

Fortunately for her, he didn’t need prayers. He will get better and he won’t know why.

 

Before she left, she turned her attention back to him.

“When we last saw each other, I left you some jewelry to sell. You didn’t take it.”

 

“I didn’t.” Arthur confirmed.

 

It was clear she wanted to ask him why, even formed it on her lips, but it couldn’t quite exit from her.

 

Turns out she didn’t need to because Arthur answered anyway, “Wouldn’t have done a dead man any good, now would it.” He coughed and cleared his chest with a couple grunts.

 

“You’re not dead yet. I’ve already buried a great man. I won’t bury another.” She was sweeter than he felt he deserved and he could only respond with a resigned smile.

 

Charlotte lingered for a moment then left to go replenish Arthur’s water. The man had no choice other than to get better.

 

He remembered what the doctor in Saint Doctor told him, to stay warm, dry, and get lots of rest. An unrealistic task when he was in the middle of a severe divide with the only family he knew. When the running, the killing, and the fighting _wouldn’t stop._

 

Dutch left him on that mountain with no remorse. That look in his eyes, it was the same one he gave him when he left him to die in the factory. Could imagine it was the same one he gave John when he was taken by the police. 

 

But right now, Arthur couldn’t find himself to be _angry_ at him. A resounding feeling of acceptance lingered from that mountain. Guess dying changes a man.

 

—

 

Arthur has been healing for weeks, nearing months and Charlotte finally felt okay with letting him help out with duties. The man had been listening to her, to keep bedridden and concentrate on his health. He was in no position to piss off his host, and he figured John and the others were capable enough to wait a little bit longer.

 

But now, he has been able to sleep without a severe coughing fit waking him up in the night. He is able to laugh without struggling to breath after. And Mrs. Balfour has made great company.

 

He didn’t realize how much satisfaction he took in teaching her small tricks of the trade. Passing along everything Hosea taught him about hunting and survival. She has been catching larger game now. She skinned her first deer and she wouldn’t stop talking about it all night.

  
The next day Arthur asked to borrow her horse.  
  
“Oh-- Of course. Everything here is yours. Will you be going to town?” The woman had her knife out and was trying her hand at making leather. The rocking chair rocked with her gentle movement.  
  
Arthur relaxed against the railing of the porch and sniffed. “I,” He thought for a moment. “I ain’t quite sure yet. It’s been a couple weeks, and I’m guessin’ my family is layin’ low somewhere.”  
  
“Ah. I see, to hide from the men that hurt you?”  
  
“To hide from the world, miss.” He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled-- Tried to, he had a small coughing fit before continuing but Charlotte stayed patient. “Was, was ahem, was thinkin’ to maybe send mail to every major town. Bound to find it somewhere.” _If they weren’t total fools,_ Arthur thought.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t have any stationary.”  
  
“Mm, don’t worry ‘bout it. They’re bound t’ at the station. I’ll be back in a few. I’ll take real good care of Elliott for you.” He tipped his head for her, missing his hat dearly, but the action was all the same.  
  
“I trust you will.” She smiled and went back to slicing off the fur of the pelt.  
  
Arthur turned to leave but he made it down the first step before he saw a familiar buck. It’s glow was just as brilliant as before, but Arthur wasn’t sure if it was just the sun playing tricks on his eyes.  
  
_It walked across the front yard with each step slower than it’s last. Leaned down to sniff the ground and bite at the grass there then looked up. It saw Arthur and it’s ears flicked once or twice. The warm air had a sudden chill._ _  
__  
_ “Oh wow!”  
  
Charlotte’s sweet voice broke the trance the buck put him in. At the same time, the buck looked her way and bounded off. The air felt light again, and the man didn’t even know he was holding his breath.  
  
“Aw, I seemed to have scared it. I still find it so neat how large their antlers get. Cal loved them too, always wanted to keep a set in the house but we, well, we never got around to getting one great enough.”  
  
As much as Arthur wanted to care, he could hardly process her conversation, still so stunned at the presence of that creature. _That it wasn’t a dream,_ it was real and it was watching him. Just like it had said, or Hosea said. _Was it Hosea?_ No, it sounded like him, but it wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been- There were so many questions and little to no answers.  
  
“Arthur??”  
  
“Arthur! Are you alright in there?”  
  
Once again, he was brought back to reality and he looked over with a dumb look on his face.  
  
She just laughed. “You really love wildlife, don’t you.”  
  
Of course she misunderstood and Arthur could only nod, “Er, yeah.” Thankfully she paid him no more mind and he walked off to Charlotte’s horse.  
  
He first patted him and cooed a couple times, his low voice breaking and he huffed a short cough. “That’s--” He stopped to cough one more time and patted the horse’s neck, “That’s a good boy.” Even with his difficulty he smiled genuinely at the steed. The boy’s ears twitched and shook it’s head with a short neigh.  
  
Arthur pulled himself up into the saddle and situated himself. It’s been too long and there was a feeling of bliss being back on a horse that he missed. Like he was missing an extra limb. Even if it wasn’t his horse, rest her soul.  
  
“C’mon, boy.” He mumbled to Elliott and with a click of his heel the horse responded to him. First Arthur rode slowly but as he made it down the path he picked up the pace, feeling the wind in his hair and the rhythm of the horses galloping itching a scratch he’s been yearning for weeks now. Felt like freedom. He was alive and he wanted to ride this horse to the end of the earth. His face hurt from smiling so broadly and probably freaked out passer-byers with every “ ** _HOWDY, MISTER._** ” Shouted as loud as he could then followed by coughing. Too happy to care about the burn in his lungs.  
  
He was going to mail John Marston and in months time they’ll all reunite, _Charles, Sadie, Little Jack,_ _Abigail._ Hell, if he could stay in contact with the other girls too, it seemed perfect. They’d all make it out and be able to live free. Doing what? He wasn’t sure, but they’d figure it out. They had another chance. The mountain had given it to him-- Whoever was up there--  
  
_Annesburg came into view and Arthur became hopeful, so hopeful. The threat of Pinkertons recognizing was there, but he’d just be in and out. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the problem. It was as if he had crossed an invisible line. His happy coughs turned more severe and his body felt like it was buzzing, the town bustling under the windy roads feeling farther away._ _  
_  
_“Take care of this mountain, for it will always be your final resting place.” Hosea’s voice again, clear in his ears._

It wasn’t him, it wasn’t. It was all in his head, and Arthur just needed to make it into town, to even send one letter.  
  
_His senses were deafened, and he felt it all come back, the moment of his last breaths, an indescribable feeling of helplessness as his body stopped making sense. The only thing he could hear were the sound of his own breaths and the man shut his eyes, at least he thought he did. He doesn’t remember._  
  
Elliott managed to save him, on pure luck alone, really. With the rider, who he didn’t even properly know, unresponsive he took it upon himself to go back up the trail a little bit to get some grass. People saw the state of Arthur Morgan but assumed he was just drunk or something of the like.  
  
_Just one more step of Elliott’s hooves and Arthur gasped for air then sputtered and coughed. His thoughts were slow to return, time felt odd again, slow. Men and women passing him into town looked like they were going in slow motion and his head spun._  
  
_Arthur Morgan came to this conclusion very quickly: He can not leave._


	3. A Good Veteran

  
Charlotte’s face rose and fell when she saw the man return to her home. Something must have happened and Arthur nearly fell off poor Elliott. The boy neighed and scraped his hooves.   
  
“Arthur!” She rushed over to his side and helped him down and walked him back to the house with difficulty. His face had reddened and he looked out of it. Felt it too. He could hardly concentrate and his coughing was acting up again.    
  
Arthur doesn’t remember making it to the bed. He never got to send that letter.    
  


Months passed and Arthur had been spending more time outside than inside. Hunting, exploring, fishing, or just enjoying the nature around him. Winter had left the forest covered in a thin blanket of snow. Where birds were usually singing instead held a deafening silence. The crunch of the snow and distant water rushing being the only thing making conversation.    
  
Charlotte had been finding difficulty to keep things running when the supply for food had thinned, but Arthur’s consistent supply of fish from the river got them through. Even taught her a few tricks. Wasn’t a big surprise when she admitted she’s never held a fishing pole before.    
  
He appreciated her company and how she never would pry at what he was before all this. She never asked him how he ended on that mountain or why he stopped going to town. She mostly filled the silence with her own memories and Arthur enjoyed listening.    
  
Going further west down the mountain he would run into Hamish a lot, the veteran with the missing leg and that unruly horse. He understood the mountain and the peace that it brought, and the two of them would go off and enjoy the nature together.    
  
That morning Hamish had invited him inside for coffee and company. Arthur couldn’t have been more eager to accept.    
  
Buell neighed in a greeting as the two men passed him to enter the house. The horse’s coat glimmered with the sunshine pouring through the clouds. God damn gorgeous horse if it wasn’t such a bastard.    
  
“You seen that buck around, Arthur?” Hamish’s words made the man freeze at the very mention of the beast.

 

“Uh,” 

 

“Been visiting my cabin more n more through the winter. Gorgeous set of antlers and smart one too.” The veteran rubbed his hands together and got to preparing some coffee.

 

Arthur shut the door behind them and watched Hamish carefully. The temptation to talk about his experience with someone was overwhelming. Thankfully the older man just kept on concentrating on his own thoughts.

 

“Left out some berries in hoping to lure the damn thing but it hasn’t been taking.” 

 

Arthur cleared his throat, “Think I’ve seen it. Got kind of a… glowin’ look to it?” He motioned to his chest. 

 

Hamish stopped. “Hm. Not that I recall. Just is a beefy son of a bitch in comparison to most of the deer found out here.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and then one for Arthur.

 

Arthur chewed on that information as he took the cup from Hamish and sat down at the small table. They settled into a comfortable silence to sip on their coffee and enjoy the atmosphere.    
  
Finally, Arthur decided to break the silence with a rub of his beard. “I’ve got to be honest with you, Hamish. Somethin’ real weird happened to me before this winter.”    
  
“That so?”    
  
“Yeah. I told you a little about the.. ‘Bout the unpleasantries of leavin’ a life behind. Well..well, I was real sick, Hamish. I wasn’t ‘sposed to make it.” It was difficult to get some of the words out, trying to be careful about he brought this up. Hamish was always a good conversation and never judged him quick even when his past demons were mentioned, but Arthur knew everyone had their limits.    
  
And this topic was a little bit different than confessing to killin’ folks.   
  
“That was God’s own miracle then, huh?” Hamish smiled.   
  
Arthur offered a small smile back but shook his head. “I-- See, that’s where it’s troublin’. It ain’t God’s work, that Man’s got no use for me. But, there’s somethin’ odd with that deer. It.. It.. I think it saved me-- For- Some reason.”    
  
As dumb as Arthur felt for speaking the words aloud, Hamish’s eyes released no judgement on this topic either. Maybe didn’t quite believe him, but nodded along and his expression stated he had something to say if he didn’t quickly get distracted.    
  
“Ah, well would you speak of the devil!” Hamish motioned over to the window that sat above the sink. Arthur had to squint to focus past the bright shine of white of the window, but like Hamish said there it was.    
  
It still glowed stunning as always, reminding him again about his odd relationship with the creature. The deep chill he got in his gut came with it too. He should be used to it by now with the amount of times he’s seen it in the wilderness, but alas the sight continued to take the breath out of him. It wasn’t alone this time though. Other deer were sprinkled about and eating whatever vegetation had survived the freeze.   
  
“Ah, shit, it’s like it knew I was talkin’ about it.” Arthur laughed softly and Hamish laughed with him.    
  
“Well, let’s go check out that guardian angel, huh?” Hamish grabbed for his rifle and Arthur stood up quickly.    
  
“Uh, dunno if that’s such a--”    
  
“I don’t plan on hurtin’ the thing. Let’s just take a closer look, huh?” The old man’s glint in his eye was there, but it was a trustworthy one.    
  
“Ah, shoot. Then let’s go check out this guardian angel.” They both laughed heartily and left the cabin.    
  
Elliott and Buell stood proudly in the snow and both men saddled up. Elliott has taken a liking to Arthur finally. A stubborn horse, but not as stubborn as the one Hamish rode. Buell clearly liked the snow more than Arthur’s borrowed horse did as he made every stride look effortless as they rode up into the mountainside.    
  
“Looks like they’re making their way west.”    
  
Arthur grunted, “The snow will make em’ easy to track.”    
  
“That’s for sure. Let’s keep on ‘em.”    
  
Despite the advantages they had on the group of deer, they were fast and illusive. Every time they gained on them they seemed out of reach. It would have been frustrating if it weren’t so fun. The adrenaline of rushing after something and being with good company, it made Arthur feel like he belonged somewhere.    
  
“Shh--Arthur.” Hamish called out to him as quietly as he could and slowed up Buell. “There he is.”    
  
He was right again. The buck was standing near a tree and minding it’s own business. The rest of the herd had cleared off to the right. Hamish got off his horse and waded through the snow to sit down next to a bush nearby. Arthur soon joined him.    
  
“Wow, what. A. Beauty.” Hamish mumbled quietly to himself as he raised binoculars to his eyes to see a little bit clearer. Arthur did the same. While Hamish had trouble looking away, Arthur had the opposite problem, lest his sensations get a little too overwhelming.    
  
“Found me up at the top of the mountain, where I was layin’ to die.” Arthur sighed and relaxed into the snow. “Could swear it was glowin-- Hell, could swear it was glowin’ right now, but no matter what that truth is.. I made it down that mountain and here I am sittin’ next to you..” He purposefully left out the voices, or the inability to leave the mountain side, but the older man got the point.   
  
Hamish looked to him and smiled. “No matter what it was, it’s good to have you with me, son.”    
  
“It is.” 

  
_ The buck had been aware of the two men and that’s not what made it feel uncomfortable. Danger was in the air and the buck felt it. As did the horses, but perhaps a little late. The buck instead created action, rather than rushing away from the fear, it ran toward it with purpose. _ __   
__   
“What is it  _ doing?” _ Was all Hamish could manage before the buck was clearly running at them at full speed and Arthur had to think quickly.    
  
“ _ Move! _ ” Arthur grabbed his friend and tried to get out of the way in time and would have failed if the brilliant buck didn’t jump right over them. It felt outer-worldly, being that close to the magnificent creature and watching the rippling of the muscles in it’s form as it leapt over.    
  
__ A large growl was heard behind them and they both had to turn as the buck took on a damn mountain lion. The scene played out quickly and the cat had gotten a good scratch into the buck’s shoulder but those strong antlers hooked the cat off and nearly gored it if the cat didn’t hightail out of there. 

 

_ The buck looked back at Morgan with it’s head held high then it bounded off towards the direction of the rest of the deer.  _ __   
__   
The two men were left speechless.    
  
“Damn! You really do have a guardian angel, Arthur!” Hamish laughed incredulously, patting the ground as he processed it all. Arthur laughed with him too. It was unbelievable. He was just glad Hamish got to see it with him.   
  
They were covered in snow now but neither of them cared, just got back on their horses and made conversation about other odd things they’ve seen around the mountain and soon about more trivial things like a farmers dog adopting a lamb.    
  
“A _ lamb?” _   
  
“A lamb.”    
  
“ _ Well, shit.” _   
  
When they got back to the cabin Hamish offered inside again but Arthur turned him down.    
  
“Naw, think I hurt my shoulder somehow. Better head back.” He rubbed his shoulder a little, feeling a burn of  _ somethin’ wrong, _ but Arthur couldn’t feel too worried about it. Must have just fell odd, he was still aging afterall.    
  
“Ah, well, it was a good time as ever, Arthur.”    
  
“Always is. I’ll stop by soon to fish.”   
  
“Bring that young lady you’re stayin’ with!”    
  
Arthur nodded, “I’ll run it by her.”    
  
With that, they waved their goodbyes and Arthur set off back up the trail to Charlotte’s home. His shoulder stung, which was an odd sensation when expecting an ache instead. He rubbed the spot and growled in pain.    
  
After hitching up and taking a moment to brush and care for Elliott, Arthur headed inside. Charlotte was there in the kitchen with stew on the stove and she was sitting at the table going through some old pictures.   
  
The streaks of clean on her face indicated she had been crying and Arthur didn’t point it out.   
  
“Hello, Arthur. I’m just--” She stopped herself, wiped a tear away as she collected the photos and decided to give a soft laugh instead, “Being silly. How was your trip out?”    
  
He walked over and patted her on the shoulder before heading to his borrowed room. “Was interestin’ to tell you the truth. ‘M gonna go get changed then tell you ‘bout it.”    
  
With the door closed, he got to take a look at himself in the mirror. He was rugged and out of place in the decor that Charlotte had set up. Hadn’t had a haircut since he last been to a town, and he hasn’t taken the time to shave. Looked like an outright mountain man. Best thing about his reflection was the color in his face, the lack of blue and yellow, and the whiteness of his eyes.    
  
Still looked like a sad bastard but at least not a sick one.    
  
Now to take a look at that shoulder.    
  
He removed each article of clothing carefully, trying not to disturb anything. The last bit of clothes clung to his skin and darkened by blood. He peeled it all away to investigate two large gashes that ran along from his shoulder to his pectoral.   
  
“What in the..”    
  
It looked too close to a cat’s claw for comfort. The only thing that would mean.. Something absolutely mad. And in the same way it was confusing it was terrifying. That buck held his life on those four legs. Wandering the mountainside full of danger and no way for Arthur to prevent it.    
  
In the meantime, all Arthur could do was dress the wound and get dressed. He didn’t mention the scratch to Charlotte, but he did mention the fishing trip to her and she delightfully agreed.    
  
Everyday her and Hamish made it easier to live without John and the others. If he was here by his lonesome he doesn’t know if he would have been able to stop himself from wandering too far.    
  
\--   
  
The three of them ended up going on that fishing trip and Charlotte made a great addition to the dynamic. She kept making mistakes and the two of them only guided her right, even if they had to make some comments between two men who’ve been fishing since they were small. In despite of it all, she had caught three fish, small, but that’s the most she’s caught all winter. She beamed about it all night and everything seemed okay.   
  
In moments like these were when Arthur missed the gang the most. Missed Hosea, missed  __ Dutch . The parts where they weren’t killin’, they were just out enjoying each others company. It happened a lot more than it didn’t in the early days.

  
It was fitting that in the spring time that had to end too. In the form of a monstrous wild boar and an unfortunate encounter where there was no glowing buck to save a deserving friend. Arthur wasn’t fast enough to stop it but he was there to be by Hamish’s side in his final moments.   
  
“Goddamn. Got thrown and the bastard hog got me.” Hamish wheezed and Arthur wanted to interject but after a struggled gasp Hamish continued, “Take Buell for me, would you? He’s a good horse. He may be stubborn…” He gasped out again and Arthur did all he could to comfort him, “But he’s strong.”    
  
Then there was nothing.    
  
“Hamish?” He shook him a couple times, but it was useless. He was gone.    
  
Not only that, but the boar wanted seconds. And it should’ve felt good to put three bullets in the hog’s brain, but Arthur still just felt like crying.    
  
As the hog laid there dead next to his friend, he could only pant and run his fingers through his hair. “ _ Shit,  _ We got him, old man.”   
  
He took his time collecting the trophy to put in Hamish’s house then to go over to Buell and calm him down. Damn thing had no clue it lead to his owner’s demise, but Arthur cooed at the boy all the same. Finally Arthur looked to the body.    
  
Knew where to bury him.    
  
He lifted the old man up and put him over Buell’s rear to hop on and whistle for Elliott to follow. It was a quiet trip back to the elder’s cabin. Felt wrong. Arthur got off Buell and patted his neck before going over and removing his friend’s body to lay him down next to the cabin. A quilt in Hamish’s house did a fine job of wrapping him and Arthur left to fetch Charlotte.    
  
The two of them buried him by the water and set up a marker and neither of them could manage to cry. Felt all dried up. Could only look down at the fresh mound and hang their heads. Charlotte prayed for him. Arthur just couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t protect him.    
  
“Mind taking Elliott back with you? Hamish gifted Buell to me, was thinkin’ of stickin’ around here for a bit.”    
  
Charlotte offered a soft smile then swallowed, “Sure. Be careful.” And Arthur watched her as she rode off, disappearing up the trail.    
  
He spent the rest of the evening sitting at the docs and thinking about it all. Where his life had brought him. The moon gave enough light to curse him with his reflection in the water. He pushed a hand through it in frustration.    
  
“Just a useless man up on a useless mountain, unable to die.” In his dark thoughts he started to imagine that in this time that he’s been unable to leave that John somehow managed himself in trouble too. Needing him. And here was, playing mountain man rather than being with him. To make sure Jack stayed alright. Fed, taken care of, secure.    
  
If he ever saw John again, he doesn’t know how he’d be able to convince him that he wasn’t just avoiding him. While John had to pretend to be in love with his best friend and take care of a child that could  or couldn’t be his, Arthur would be seen thriving as only himself bunking up with a beautiful widow. The cards weren’t fair.    
  
Before Arthur could finish cursing nature, his life, and everything in the heavens, he saw a glow coming from behind him and he turned. 

 

_ That beast was brazen enough to walk right past Buell without blinking those blank eyes, it’s stride full of purpose. The air that was so warm seemed chilled again. Arthur could make out the scar over it’s chest as he did on his own. The beast walked right up near the docks up to the fresh grave and bowed it’s head to it.  _ __   
__   
_ Arthur was stunned into silence and kept his eyes on the beast. It seemed.. Sad. If he didn’t know what the buck was capable of, he’d probably think it was just bullshit. However, he saw it with his own two damn eyes, the buck kneeled down first then fully laid down on the mound of fresh dirt and curled up.  _ __   
__   
Arthur couldn’t keep the tears back and he had to cover his face to keep his composure. The forest wouldn’t tell a soul no matter how loud he cried. And as his shoulders shaked and his chest constricted he was reminded of all the  __ loss he’s suffered all at once. The buck stayed peacefully asleep on the grave throughout the man’s sobs.   
  
Arthur spent the next years here in Hamish’s cabin. He finally did manage to write those  letters with Hamish’s supplies and Charlotte offered to take them to town for him. Addressed to a Tacitus Kilgore that he hoped dearly that John Marston would someday think to ask for. When weeks became months and then when they became years Arthur figured he’d never see that boy again.

  
The thought never once became easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(  
> next chapter will indeed have john marston and arthur/john i should be apologizing for the brotp going on with charlotte arthur and hamish but im not sorry at all i love them


	4. Run To Me

  
  


_ The buck drank slowly from the river and Arthur studied it from where he sat on the grass. There was no care in the world as it stalked off back into the wilderness. _

 

Arthur sighed and stood up and kicked out his fire and packed up his tent. Over time Arthur has found another detail while paying attention to this animal. It predicted things. It wasn’t always something bad and it wasn’t always frequent. He’s gone months without seeing the thing but he’s also seen the buck multiple times in one day. 

 

Bear traps gone wrong, wolf attacks, kidnappings, poachings. All just a small examples of problems the visitors of the mountain would get themselves into. Especially with that gang of inbred sludge, the Murfree Broods. Felt like no matter how much Arthur took them down they still had more tucked in the caves multiplying in the rocks.

 

Years ago he would have probably robbed the people he saved or only seen to their aid if they had a means of paying him, but now it was different. It was a sense of purpose he found when taking care of the ailments of the mountain side and soon he became more and more possessive of the land. 

 

Arthur Morgan became a myth. That if you found yourself in trouble in the forest a man in furs would come dig you out then just as quickly leave. A rumored gunslinger, a prison escapee, or even a ghost of a farmer who lost his wife in the war. Kids spun tales and created dares to find the man. Sometimes they did, but most of the time they didn’t. Even when Arthur would deny the claims of being anything but a man their beliefs strengthened.  _ There were even rumors of him being a God.  _

 

Arthur couldn’t stop laughing when he got told that. 

_ “People want to believe in anything, don’t they?”  _ He remembers he had told the man in response. “ _ I ain’t nobody. Was someone mean. Now I don’t quite know. Scram before I figure it out.”  _

 

No matter how much good he did for the land, he never could stop loving the way grown men scream and run in fear. 

 

However, the week has had an odd settling in the trees. And the buck… it must have had something to do with it because Arthur has been seeing it every day and the birds have stopped singing. With every patrol through the forest Arthur expected to find danger but instead found none. Even Charlotte has been noticing Arthur’s agitation as he visited more frequently- So paranoid that something would hurt her when his back was turned. 

 

Something was going to happen and the forest was telling him this. 

 

“Get  _ out of here!  _ Sick a your face!” The man picked up a pebble and tossed it at the glowing buck to spook it. It had followed him all the way up to Charlottes’. Damn thing. “Don’t know what you god damn want from me! Get!” 

 

_ The pebble and joined childish yelling worked and the buck rushed off back into the trees. Quiet settled again. Disturbing, unsettling quiet except for the rustling of trees. If it weren’t for the color Arthur would have assumed it was late fall. The bugs were even taking a break.  _

 

Arthur huffed and waited a minute before going inside. Charlotte was sitting at the table with a book in her hands:  _ The Virginian.  _ A book Arthur found for her discarded by the river. Apparently a lovely read. She put it down to immediately ask him if everything’s alright.

 

“Mm, think so. Just a little worried. Been quiet for the past near week now.” He walked over to the pot of simmering.. something. He ladled a scoop of it to smell it then tasted it. 

 

“Yes, it has been quiet. I’ve hardly been able to catch a rabbit. And please tell me how you like that soup. A nice woman in town gave me the recipe. I don’t remember what it’s called but it’s something with a German origin. Thought I’d give it a try.” 

 

Arthur turned to look at her with a surprised expression. “What was that? A nice woman… in  _ Annesburg? _ ”

 

“Yes, in Annesburg. When was the last time you stepped foot there?”

 

“Thankfully not for a long,  _ long _ time.” Arthur grinned and grabbed himself a bowl to slap a good helping into it. Charlotte gave him a warning look and stood up to get herself some too. 

 

Just being around Charlotte eases his nerves a little. Maybe whatever was coming was just a storm that’d pass in the morning. He tried not worry too much. 

  
  


————————————————————-

 

He had lost Abigail and Jack.

 

Well, okay, not  _ lost _ . Just, temporarily… you know, not have them around.

It was a smart decision on her part and one that John frankly doesn’t understand why it took her 7 years to make. Especially when he’s really been  _ trying _ here. 

His name is John Marston and his life is half in shambles. 

 

Ranching isn’t half bad, it’s not great work but it’s honest and he’s been trying to play his cards right. Get what his wife wanted and live peacefully on some land that the government financially chained him to. You know, a true American life. Not the one that Dutch has spun tales of for all of his life. 

One that he could be living free, rich, and without consequences. Sort of a joke in hindsight. With a bad punchline to boot.  
  


He didn’t understand how Arthur and him believed it for so long. Just didn’t know better, then when they did.. it was a little too late. 

 

Even if his “ranch” was a dusty plot of nothing, he felt Arthur would have liked it. Could almost hear the amount of jokes the bastard would have made at him. They’d be a lot more clever than the ones Uncle dish out, that’s for sure. 

 

“John! Would you put the damn book down!” Speaking of the devil, Uncle shouted at him in that annoying trill to break John’s concentration off Arthur’s journal. The three men sat next to the campfire, doing a lot of nothing. At least Charles was looking useful. 

 

“What  _ is it,  _ old man? I can hear you just  _ fine.”  _

 

“You haven’t said a damn word!”

 

“Think that maybe I was fixin’ to ignore you?” His tone was quick and bitter. 

 

Uncle put his hands up to ease the wild horse that was John Marston. “Hey, there’s no need to bite my head off now! Just was tryin’ to keep up some conversation. Knew I’d be better talkin’ to trees— Or- Or that barrel!” Uncle added a quick, “No offense.” For Charles who seemed clearly unoffended. 

 

The fire crackled strong and John couldn’t bear it anymore. The stress, the frustration, and overall— Uncle’s god damn voice. He stood up and walked off to his horse.

 

“Where you goin’!?” Uncle stood up too, way more appalled and animated than he should be. 

 

John ignored that too. Saddled up and patted his horse’s neck. 

“I’ll be back.. soon.” It was for Charles and Charles knew that.

 

“Stay safe.” 

 

Uncle shouted after him, “Wait! Just hold on a damn minute!” It was useless and the old man finally gave up and sat back down at the campfire. 

 

“He’s got a lot on his mind, Uncle. He’ll be back.” 

 

Whenever things got a little too overwhelming John always found solace in a ride. Didn’t matter where he was heading or for what reason, just the wind in his hair, the steed under him. The power and the ability to go wherever he wanted.

 

He did have a goal this time. He’s had Arthur’s journal for years and has always wanted to check in with the countless people Arthur came across. The most recent additions were of a man named Hamish and a widow named Charlotte. Could probably go up north then loop back down into Hanover.

 

That was the plan, anyway. 

 

He didn’t get very far, it was night when he left and he rode all night but he was only a little past Strawberry when he decided he needed to rest and set up camp. Didn't want to linger too long but he ate a quick breakfast. Charles has given him some seasonings to add to some chicken he had and it made him regret all those times where he ate the bird plain. Charles was just another nature of man. John kicked the campfire out and packed up to get back on the road.

 

It was sunny throughout the day and the mountain side looked gorgeous with each rolling hill brightened by the glow of the light. The air smelled fresh rather than dusty and the trees rustled in the wind. A completely different scenery than Blackwater's which was only a day away. It was always odd to him just how varied it gets out here, and John appreciated it. Even when he did prefer the vast nothingness only out of familiarity.  Had to be careful on the paths though, they were unpredictable and twisty but damn were they beautiful too.

 

And dangerous. 

 

With the sun setting in the sky John was distracted by the color. A bright gold running with deep red that made the surroundings rich and stunning. It reminded him of Arthur and how he used to look at sunsets. Remembered how the man found significance in them as they marked the retirement of the day.

 

It was a good thing  _ one _ of them was paying attention because Rachel nearly rammed straight into a buck. She neighed and reared but the buck stayed where it was: in the middle of the damn road.

 

“Woah!! Easy! Easy, girl.” John tried to relax her and she was not having it.

 

_ The buck glowed just as everything else hit by the dying light, and it stared like it knew something about him. Unwavering. Strong. It’s antlers were an intricate maze of bone upon it’s head. Left John with a chill just at the sight.  _

 

But it was also blocking his way. 

 

“Go on, now.” He tried to usher it but it stayed still. “I said get!” John yelled out and only then did the daring buck bound off. 

 

“Jesus. What in the world was that about.” He mumbles to himself and continued on. Rachel huffed under him and it was a great response. 

 

As it hit dusk the sky darkened and a warm rain started to fall. He continued on until he reached a cabin by the side of a lake and he had a feeling this was the correct one. He guided Rachel over to it. The lights were off and he quickly noticed a small marker by the docks. 

 

“Damn it.” He got off his horse anyway and hitched her. He wanted to at least investigate the little cabin since he came out here. To get a sense of a man that Arthur so genuinely liked in his final weeks. 

 

He knocked stupidly, just to make sure. “Hello?” 

 

No one.

 

He pushed the door open and walked inside and it was difficult to see much. Small yet cozy. There were furs that lined the walls and different types of game framed in the back. A small table, a bed. It seemed oddly.. lived in, when he expected a looted, rotting house given the state of the marker. Maybe someone else had moved in and now he was breaking and entering. Except for some reason, it smelled familiar. Warm. 

 

John fought the urge to rummage through the belongings and turned back. Even though it’d be incredibly easy to take whatever. It was secluded enough away that even if caught he doubted he’d get punished too severely. Yet, he refrained. For Arthur. When he exited the small cabin thunder boomed in the distance and Rachel neighed in concern. 

 

He walked over and patted her and gave her comfort. “Hey, it’s okay, lady.” With one more pat she huffed and shook her head and he got back on her. 

 

So far this little trip has been a bust other than running head first into a crazy deer. John hit that with a big ‘ _ so what.’  _ At least he wasn’t sitting around next to Uncle in Blackwater who was having a field day telling him what to do. Out here he didn’t have to think about ranching or.. or really anything. Just him, Rachel, and the rain. 

 

John made his way up north where it said a couple interesting people resided and following the path he quickly found another grave. Clearly not fresh either and matched it with the types of flowers that grew around the thick stone. 

 

He tipped his hat to it as he passed and Rachel led him up to the house. A gorgeous pale horse was hitched nearby and he hitched Rachel next to the steed. It had a beautiful sheen under the moon. John walked to the porch and a lovely woman was sitting on the bench. Salt and pepper hair pulled back with a journal in hand. She had a rugged way about her and her clothes looked done herself. A survivor.

 

She was smart to look weary when she saw him arrive and immediately put her full attention on him.

 

“Hello there. Can I help you?” Careful. Guarded.

 

“Uh, I think you knew a friend of mine. A feller called Arthur Morgan? Came by and helped you with some huntin’ and skinnin’.. Probably seven or eight years back.” 

 

She still looked careful but a lot less guarded, her shoulders relaxed and stood up fully to walk to the railing. 

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for him.” She smiled gently, even thinking about the first time she met the man. Really was that long ago.

 

John hated bearing bad news, he did. But something about her knowing what happened to him.. made John feel like Arthur wouldn’t be forgotten that way.

 

“Unfortunately.. he passed soon after.” 

 

Charlotte blinked, confused, then her face went neutral again. Seeming maybe to keep back a smile?

“I see.” Her words were purposeful. “It’s a long way out here. Feel free to come inside, I can make you some tea… or, something.” 

 

John smiles but shook his head, “I shouldn’t—“

 

“It’s raining. Please come in.” She beckoned him inside and started to open the door. It was hard to say no. He did ride all day, it’d be nice for a little break. Least he could do was entertain some hospitality for a friend of Arthur’s.

 

“Alright, alright.” 

 

She had disappeared inside and John followed, it was a nice little home, warm, with a rich decor and a grown man sitting at the table making eye contact with him. Sketch book in his hand, pencil in the other. 

 

Not any man. 

 

A dead man. 

 

A ghost.

 

_ Arthur Morgan. _

 

He looked a lot different from when he last saw him, aged. His hair was long and so was his beard, grayed so perfectly like it was seasoned by God himself. His eyes, that bright mix of green and blue, they stared into his soul. The biggest difference, though, was he looked  _ healthy.  _ And  _ strong _ . Like a very alive man. 

 

John realized he hadn’t said a word. Just been staring. Arthur had stood up but hadn’t managed a word either. 

 

“You’re… alive.” John has so many questions he doesn’t think his lungs could supply the oxygen for, if they could even get past his  _ lips.  _ Neither of them seemed to be able to get it out, their brains still swallowing the information. 

 

“It’s..Complicated.” 

 

Not a  _ great answer _ . 

 

“Just. C’mere.” 

 

John was still stunned but he couldn’t say no, couldn’t process the anger that filled him, the sadness, the  _ relief,  _ nor the other 82 emotions he couldn’t even name. Just found his feet walking him to the older man and around the table.

 

The very second John got close enough Arthur grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace. So tight he made him wheeze.

 

“John Marston. You son of a bitch.” 


	5. That's Where I'll Be

Arthur couldn’t look more relaxed than he was. Sitting there across John Marston with a cigarette held between his teeth. Now, Arthur Morgan has always been a cool headed man, John knew that, but it was different. Had a face one couldn’t imagine getting angry, wouldn’t have if John knew who it belonged to.

 

“You’re tellin’ me.. You’ve just been up here, this whole time?” John’s tone was incredulous, but he knew it came out too angry. He felt so on edge for something he should feel happy about.

 

“Yeah, bedridden for a good half a year. Tried to find you, but, well. Clearly wasn’t successful.” Arthur scratched at his beard and looked away. Charlotte stood nearby stirring a pot, keeping nicely out of the conversation.

 

“We was neighbors then. Abigail, Jack, n I, we camped out in Roanoke Ridge for a good long while. Before I went along and screwed it up doing what I do best.” It wasn’t meant as a great joke but Arthur laughed and John was shortly stunned by the magic of it. Good and hearty like he remembered it, not plagued by a fit of coughing like it was in the end.

 

“I remember that hell hole.” Arthur shifted in his seat. “Where you livin’ now?”

 

John contemplated telling the truth about Abigail and Jack, but seeing Arthur’s face. Remembering his last words to him. John felt a sickening feeling of shame.

“Er, tried my hand at ranching. Tryin’ real hard to go straight. Stayed in Strawberry for a bit before I went and purchased a plot of land from the bank down near Blackwater. Not pretty, but it’s mine.”

 

Arthur grinned, “The bank? John Marston is a real dog of civilization. How’s Jack?”

 

“Does more readin’ than anything else, but he’s good. Everything’s fine. Quiet.”

  


“Well, what’s brought you up here? Doubt Abigail is pleased with you bein’ gone for more than a day. I know she worries.” The man’s ton was even, so easily punching a hole in his story. John forgot how Arthur could read him better than a book. Just took a drag of that cigarette he had and exhaled it with that steady gaze.

 

“Well, you know, she uh,” he started. Marston felt himself choking on something, bad air perhaps. Brain short circuiting while it couldn’t come up with one good excuse that Morgan wouldn’t see right through.

 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’ve made you some porridge. I put some berries in there too that I’ve been nursing in the back so it shouldn’t taste too bad.” Mrs. Balfour placed a hot bowl of porridge in front of him and offered a sweet smile. John quickly used her as an out.

 

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ve got to say, you’ve been doin’ good out here. Fine place.” He looked around and grinned. Could feel Arthur’s burning gaze. Acted like he couldn’t see it.

 

And quickly he learned Charlotte loved to talk. An open book. Made sense on how Arthur and her got along so well, he always did so well listening. And Charlotte told John all about the very first rabbit she skinned, then Arthur teaching her how to shoot, and how to fish. Their adventures out in the wilderness. John couldn’t help but envy Arthur’s ability to adapt to this lifestyle. Stationary and living off the land off of hard work. Honest, hard work.

Sitting across from the man it looked like he was flourishing. A flower finally doused in rainwater.

 

Arthur had told him to be one person and he promised himself that he figured out what that was. But he was here, avoiding his reality.   


John’s porridge had been finished for a long time when Charlotte finally stopped directing conversation and told them she was retiring to bed.

 

“You are both welcome to stay. It’s a nasty storm out there.”

 

“Naw,” Arthur answered for them both. “We’ll get out of your hair.” The man stood up and collected his things and John quickly stood with him.

 

“Alright. Stay safe. It was nice to meet you, John.”

 

John tipped his hat. “Thank you for the meal. And for, well, taking care of this old man. Sure he needed it.” Arthur shoved at him when he passed him and John chuckled.

 

Charlotte laughed softly at the two of them, “It was a pleasure..” Then she shut her door to the bedroom and Arthur lead John out and to the horses.

 

The beast of a horse was Arthur Morgan’s and John wasn’t too surprised. That man always had luck with horses, Bodicea he remembered was a strong one and so was his one after it. Always so loyal and proud.

John patted Rachel, who was a little bit anxious by the thunder and lightning. Arthur’s horse didn’t even seem to blink an eye and the two of them set off to a mystery destination.

 

“You got a house out here?” John yelled out to him.

 

“Yep.”

 

The rain felt like it was getting heavier as they rode on down the path, the clouds so heavy it left them in near pitch dark only lit by the bright lightning that hit the sky every moment or so.

 

Just when John started to get concerned with how far away the cabin was, a large flash of lightning hit the tree in front of them. It burst into flames and knocked right down right into the path then was just as quickly doused out. The horses reared and Arthur got bucked off with a heavy swear.

 

Marston struggles to calm Rachel enough to get off her and rushed to Arthur’s side. The man was covered in mud.

“You alright?”

 

Arthur looked up at him and they both just started laughing. Maybe the adrenaline, the situation, or the fact that they were both getting caked in mud, but the laughter was infectious.

 

“I’m,” Arthur chuckled a little bit more as he took John’s hand and stood up. “I’m fine. Mind helpin’ me get the tree out of the way?”

 

“We can just go around.”

 

Arthur shook his head, “No, were moving this thing out the way. Grab some rope and I’ll grab Buell.”

 

“Yessir.”

 

John watched the mud covered man walk over to the horse that abandoned him and saw him take the time to coo at it. Made his heart ache in nostalgia. The way he patted Buell’s neck and hushed it until the horse relaxed. Arthur looked back at him, “Well? Stop stallin’ and get the rope!”

 

“I’m on it, Jesus.” He went over to Rachel and fetched his lasso from his saddlebag and led her around to where Arthur walked Buell to. The man took the rope from John and tied it around the tree then to Buell. John figured to do the same with his horse.

 

“Help me push.” And John didn’t need to be asked twice to make it on the other side of the tree and braced against it. Arthur called for the horses to get to pulling and tree started to give. He did his best to push with it, but the mud under him kept giving out and he was slipping. Arthur in the other hand looked like the tree was nothing but a twig.

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but he did make it look a lot easier than John was managing. Felt the tightness in his chest again as he almost had difficulty tearing his eyes away from him and decided to try a little harder in pushing to get his thoughts in order. With all their combined effort, the men were able to get the large trunk out of the way.

 

John slipped to the ground and if he wasn’t already covered in mud, he was now. The sky lit up again and it was beginning to become disorienting with each flash of lightning.

 

“C’mon, John.” Arthur grabbed John’s arm and pulled him up easily. The mud made it hard for him to get steady and he used Arthur to correct his footing.   
  
“Uh, thanks.” John fixed his hat and made his way over to Rachel and untied her from the log. He exhaled slowly, finding a small break from the everything that was Arthur Morgan and he hefted himself up on her and shifted his hips to get her moving back on the path.   
  
“Cabin’s down this way. Only a little further now.” The other man clicked his tongue and Buell headed off again, and he wasn’t lying.   
  
John was quick to realize it was the same one he passed coming up. The one he almost looted.

Arthur slowed Buell down and they hitched the horses up. No stable, unfortunately but John knew they’d be fine.   
  
Lightning struck again and thunder boomed directly after and the horses started fussing. John hurried up and rushed to the door and they got inside.   
With the door shut the sounds of the storm immediately muffled into a slurred background noise. Thunder rattled the window panes and the rain whipped at the wood. No leaks, thankfully. House kept sturdy. Was pitch black until there was the sound of a match and the lamp was lit then Arthur went over to light a couple other ones.   
  
John? He stood by the door like a wet dog, unsure of where to go. Sitting in the silence and holding his arms tight.   
  
Arthur looked back at him and chuckled to walk over and dragged a wash basin out from the corner. “Wash up.”   
  
“Thanks.” Marston walked over and kneeled down and removed his hat to wash his face off. Helped a bit, but he was still cold.   
  
“Looks like your hair started growin’ upside down, Marston. It’s a good look.” And when John looked up at him he offered a cloth and a fur blanket. John took both with a silent nod then shucked his leather vest off himself and tossed it to the side. He's been with short hair for some time now, long enough to almost forget that's how Arthur knew him.  
  
“Yeah? You look like you haven’t seen a mirror since I last saw you.”  
  
Arthur chuckled and crouched down to the basin and washed up too, “Close to the truth there.” He ran his fingers through his long hair and washed out the mud that clung to him. John stood back up and went to take a look around with the fur blanket tightened around himself.   
  
By the looks of it Arthur was able to fetch some of his belongings from Beaver Hollow. The pictures of him, Dutch, and Hosea. Arthur’s mother, Arthur’s father, his old dog Copper. A flower. One frame was set face down and he couldn’t resist the urge to take a peak at what lay under it.   
  
Mary Linton.   
  
John set it back down the way it was and looked to Arthur. The man was peeling away his soaked shirt.   
  
“Jesus, Arthur. At least _warn me.”_  He only got a laugh in reply and the man replaced his shirt with something dryer.   
  
“Don’t remember you bein’ so shy, Marston. Civilization do that to you?”   
  
“ _No.”_ John kept his eyes off him as the older man buttoned up and fixed himself up. He walked to the table and pulled a chair out then sat in the other one. John took the hint and walked over and sat down.   
  
There was a moment of silence, the wind howling harder. John reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.   
  
“ _John Marston.”_ They both grinned and Arthur stood back up to grab a couple glasses.   
  
They spent the night talking, catching up and drinking. The awkwardness that had been settling melted and it was as if the past 7 years didn’t exist. They rehashed the fun moments they had when they were younger, the shenanigans they got up to. They discussed Sadie and Charles and the others. Funny things that they got up to over the years. The ranch in Strawberry. Arthur even got into talking about this spirit of the mountain and John got to tell him about that dumb deer that he nearly crashed into on the way here. They both laughed again.   
  
They both fell asleep there at the table. Dry now, but still muddy. Buried themselves in their own arms and hunched over the wood. The wind and rain made great background noise through the night. Itching to get into their little safe haven.   
  
The storm died in the morning and left the mountain stretching out in a refreshed bliss.   
  
When John woke up Arthur was gone and John had to think if it was all a dream. He looked at his dirty hands and then the fur blanket that was draped over himself and relaxed. The wolf head mounted on the wall stared at him and John yawned.   
  
Wasn’t hard to find Arthur, he was right outside and brushing Buell’s coat. Cleaning up all the mud and mess from the storm. Feeding him oats and praising him. Made Morgan feel like a ghost, a memory of a person. If John blinked Arthur would just as easily disappear.   
  
“Mornin’.”   
  
“Uh, mornin’.” John cleared his throat and shut the cabin door behind himself.   
  
“Was goin’ to patrol if you wanted to come with.” Arthur brushed through Buell’s coat one more time before setting the brush away and climbing up on the strong steed.   
  
“Uhh,” John stuttered again. “Patrol what, exactly?”  
  
“Get on then.” Arthur motioned for him to get going with a charming smirk. Can’t say no to that, he guessed.   
  
They rode through the mountain side and Arthur would stop by any wreckage that seemed noteworthy, but otherwise the ride was peaceful. They didn’t even talk much except for Arthur making notes about the wilderness. Could hear the value in his voice. Reminded him of how Hosea treated nature.  
  
“They’re singin’ again.” Arthur broke John’s thoughts.   
  
“Huh?”   
  
“The birds. They been real quiet before you came.”   
  
John looked up at the trees to listen for them, the twittering of various birds cluttered the air. “Maybe they knew ‘bout the storm?”   
  
Arthur shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”   
  
“You’re livin’ proof of that!”   
  
The day stayed peaceful like this. Slow. Nature moving around them and the two of them taking it all in like a gift. John doesn’t know how this all happened, how a miracle like this could just… fall in his lap like this. Where everything felt okay.  
As if he wasn’t ignoring the part of him that was falling apart with his life in Blackwater. He.. didn’t want to think about that right now. He wanted to think about the rabbits, and the foxes, and the look on Arthur’s face as he looked back at John to make sure he was still with him.   
  
John still didn’t understand what they were patrolling, or what Arthur really did out here. Honestly, the man could have gone entirely mad out in this wilderness for all he knew, but it didn’t matter. Not to him, at least. Not right now.   
  
“S’quiet today.” The older man muttered to himself as they approached the cabin again. “Thought least somebody would act up. Feel like that’s all people damn do ‘round here. That and find some trouble to get into.” Didn’t even bother to hitch Buell when he approached the lake and hopped off.   
  
“So, that’s a regular thing? You just, taking care of folks you don’t know?”   
  
The two of them stepped over to the dock and Arthur rested against a beam and took a cigarette from his pack and offered it to John. “Mm, it’s a little bit more complicated than that, but yeah.” John accepted the cigarette and Arthur lit a match and John closed the distance to get a light.   
  
Took a long drag and exhaled it slowly as he chewed the information.   
  
“You’re a strange man, Arthur Morgan.”   
  
“You know that hasn’t changed.” He chuckled softly and took a drag from his own cigarette. They were close and it was comfortable. Arthur even went as far to put a hand on John’s shoulder and squeezed.   
  
The day continued to pass, Arthur kept productive, John followed along like a good dog. Watched him hunt. Helped him collect the carcass. They found a lost hound and returned it to an owner, which Arthur joked was fitting. Then they even fished. Enjoying the company, the warmth of the sun, and the freshness of the air.   
  
So when Arthur turned to him and said “What’s got you out here, Marston? What are you runnin’ from.” his stomach sank.   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. What makes you think I’m running from anything?” He knew his reply came out too quick and too defensive.   
  
“Bullshit. Some rancher to ditch his place and sit here like he’s got nothin’ to lose. Does Abigail even know you left?”   
  
“I _ain’t runnin’._ And no, she doesn’t.”   
  
Arthur’s brow furrowed. An expression so familiar it twisted John’s stomach. “And why the hell not?”   
  
“Don’t think that’s any a your business, Morgan.”   
  
“ _Like hell--”_  
  
Even as Arthur invaded John’s space, John didn’t waver. Squared up instead and stared into Arthur’s eyes. “I owe you my life, Arthur, but it ain’t your damn business.”   
  
Arthur was officially ticked off and John expected a punch maybe. Would’ve earned one. But the man instead stayed quiet and backed off. “Had one request, John Marston.”   
  
“And? You ain’t dead, are you?”   
  
Arthur gave John a dangerous look and walked off to Buell and mounted him.   
  
“Where you goin’?”   
  
“Oh, it ain’t none a your damn business!” A clear mockery and that expression chilled him as Arthur left up the path. Leaving him with his thoughts and John wished he got punched instead.  
  
He really fucked that up.   
“Way to go, John.” He huffed to himself and leaned against the cabin. Could leave. Could go back to Uncle and Charles, but, this was Arthur Morgan. A myth. If John left he had a sickening feeling he’d never see him again.   
  
So he went back inside.   
  
It was hours later when Arthur returned and the man looked honestly surprised when he saw John was still here but the expression went back to that familiar scowl. John should probably say something, anything, really.   
An apology, maybe. An excuse would even work, but he just sat there on Morgan’s bed with a dumb look on his face.   
  
Arthur allowed it to stretch on of course. Let the air thicken until it started to suffocate them.   
  
“Abigail left me.”   
  
Silence.   
  
“ _What.”_  
  
“Took Jack too, for a, for a couple months now. Sick of me, and how I.. am. So I, I went to Blackwater and bought a piece a land she read about in the paper. I’m no rancher, Arthur. It’s just a shack with Uncle passed out in the corner.”   
  
Silence hit them again and John braced for a reaction, anything.   
  
John stood up and walked over to the man and he didn’t move away from him. His expression was unreadable but Marston was taking the risk.   
  
“Come back with me, will you?”   
  
“To your _shack?_ ”  
  
John hesitated before giving a short huff and a shake of his head. “Yeah. Please. We can all make it work, and Abigail- She’ll come back when it’s all ready, and we can, I don’t know. Be happy, I guess.”   
  
He could see Arthur think about it, wanting to say yes, but something flickered in his eyes that turned him sour.   
“I can’t, John.”   
  
“And why not? To do your patrols? To be this guardian angel to a mountain like you been sayin’?”   
  
Arthur waved him off. “ _It ain’t like that.”_   
  
John closed the distance some more, his eyes fixated on Arthur’s but the other man couldn’t keep the eye contact. “Then what?”   
  
Should’ve expected the silence, Arthur being so tight lipped about _something,_ and it pissed John off. That he got a huge stomp out for keeping back something from Arthur, but he was here choking back something big. Had no idea what it was, but he had some suspicions.   
  
“Is it that widow? Are you--”   
  
“ _No!_ Jesus, John! No. It’s--”   
  
“Then _what?”_ John found himself irrationally close to him, nearly touching him, and Arthur still wasn’t managing eye contact. “If I can’t be here, and you can’t come with- Then.” The older man finally looked into John’s eyes. That vibrant blue green stared right into John’s soul and he felt a mixture of frustration and want. So close to having something.   
  
“Then.” John tried again, his gaze distracted by Arthur’s mouth. Something he has abstained from for years and years. So long ago that he shouldn’t be flustered.   
  
When John looked up to Arthur’s eyes again he saw him distracted in the same way and it just, happened. Happened like first the time 14 years ago.   
  
Arthur took his jaw in his hand and kissed him. Felt a little like the first one, that one was after a fight too, he remembered. Their mouths fitting against each other so perfectly and they kissed again. And again. The taste was only described as Arthur Morgan, earthy and warm.   
  
The older man pulled away but John pulled him right back in. There was a lot of beard happening, the last time they kissed they had both been clean shaven, he remembers. Younger. Arguably dumber.   
  
John wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and he felt Arthur’s strong hands move to his waist and dug his fingers against him. He managed a small gasp and Arthur rolled his tongue against Marston’s and they broke it only to replace it with an open mouthed kiss. Messier and messier each time they did. Felt perfect to them.   
  
Marston never was comfortable exploring this with strangers, and when Jack came along Arthur had stopped humoring him, then Blackwater happened, and then Arthur’s illness. It’s been chaotic as everything else has been. So Arthur’s enthusiasm against his own, two lonely men finding their rhythm in intimacy after so long, it sent a chill down John’s spine.   
  
Arthur broke the kiss first and stopped John from going in for another one.   
“Gimme a second.” And John let go of him to watch Arthur walk to the windows and close the curtains.   
  
“Uh,”   
  
Arthur didn’t let John say anything more, pulling him into another kiss and Marston melted right into it.   
  
It was John who started to walk them back to the bed, still so preoccupied kissing each other breathless. It was Arthur who made sure he didn’t absolutely crush John when they let gravity take them. The older man had him fully pinned, overwhelming him with every action. John clutched at whatever he could find purchase on, pulling at the fabric of Arthur’s jacket.   


Arthur’s fingers went through John’s short hair, tugging on the short strands and Marston grunted softly and it got him to shudder. Remembered when he had long hair and Arthur would like to grab a fistful of it and _pull._ The memory alone filled him with a desperation he couldn’t handle.   
  
His hands were shaking as they rushed to start undoing Arthur’s clothes, frantic to rid him of everything he got on. Arthur broke a kiss to watch him struggle. Had a smirk on his face.  
“Easy now, John. Easy.” It was nearly a damn purr, low and soft for him. He shifted his weight to use his hand to reach up and take John’s and pin it above him. “We got time, boy.”  
  
“Excuse me for bein’ a little enthusiastic.”   
  
“Mm, you’re excused.” He dipped down to leave a couple kisses on Marston’s neck and the man stuttered a short exhale. He was completely surrounded by everything _Arthur_ to a point almost dizzying. Leather, dirt, earth, and something else. His sturdy frame boxing him in, the scrape of his beard on the sensitive parts of his neck as he left kisses along the way.   
  
“Arthur Morgan, it’s been 12 years. _Please hurry it up,_ will you?” He fussed with his trapped arm, his free one tugging at any clothes he could try and get undone (wasn’t very successful, but he tried.)  
  
Arthur sighed and stopped what he was doing. Let go of John too, sat up instead. “Is there one damn shred of patience in that head a yours? Bein’ 12 years, think you can manage a little longer. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He set a hand on John’s chest to keep him from shifting. “Now you mention it, life ain’t exactly done you well since then, has it. Look at that mug.” Arthur pawed at John’s cheek like he was getting a good look at him.   
  
“Like you can talk, old man. Just lookin’ at you’s givin’ me back problems. No _wonder_ you’re so slow.”  
  
Arthur grabbed John’s gun belt and ripped it off him and let it fall to the floor. John grunted a short gasp, was successful in silencing him. Only forced to admire the way that Arthur manhandled him to get him stripped to the bone. Wasn’t sexy in a way a woman would do it instead it was raw and powerful. In between articles of clothing Arthur would get distracted on John’s mouth, John meeting every kiss hungrily.   
  
Marston’s eyes were shut tight with Arthur’s mouth on his neck. Could feel Arthur’s cock pressing up against his thigh and before he could beg the man gripped his calloused hand around John’s dick. He let his palm sit most of the pressure and John groaned lowly. He knew he was shaking just at this minimal amount of effort, yet he couldn’t seem to keep himself together.   
  
“I--” He tried to manage, opening his eyes. Arthur forced him to shut them again as he kissed him quiet.   
  
“I know, Marston.” He finished for John when the kiss broke. His grip on him kept steady and firm. “I don’t got nothin’ for it.” For lubrication, he meant. They had figured that out all those years back, that it was mighty important. And gun oil was out of the question.  
  
“Do I look like I care, Arthur? Fuck..” He groaned lowly as Arthur squeezed gently.   
  
“Don’t look like it, but you will.”   
  
Marston grabbed Arthur’s wrist to stop his movements and shoved him off. Arthur let him and John was quick to push him down and switch roles. Straddled his hips and spat in his hand. For some reason it got Arthur laughing and John had to pause to laugh with him. Too contagious not to. But even though it stalled his directive, he still went ahead and took hold of both of their cocks and stroked as a fair pace with his hips rocking with it. Their laughter had easily stopped and turned to soft panting.   
  
The two of them were never loud when they partook in this bastardization of nature, and now was no different. Always set an unspoken competition to get the other to hitch louder. Marston never won, but he’d try. The soft grunts and growls of pleasure from the older man stroking his ego more than anything else.   
  
John stuttered his movements and instantly he felt the tight grip of Arthur Morgan’s hands on his hips pulling him closer and tighter and _harder_ against himself. With just a couple more grinds John was undone there and Arthur dragged him through it. In the thick buzz of pleasure he could feel the hot mess they made on themselves and it was just disgusting as it was brilliant.   
  
He didn’t remember closing his eyes but when he opened them Arthur Morgan was still there, breathless under him. Both panting to catch their breath and Arthur caught John as he started to slump off him.   
  
“ _Did good, boy._ ” And got John to laugh softly in his exhaustion and Arthur even hooked an arm around his waist to keep him close.   
  
The older man reached for nearby clothing and lazily wiped them clean. It was John’s shirt, actually. And he voiced his complaint and the complaint was just as easily ignored. Then easily forgiven too, when Arthur gripped him tighter in those strong arms. An action he never did when they.. When they used to do this. When it was a bad habit.   
  
John fell asleep there with the man of the mountain and it was the best sleep he’s had in years.  
  
  
When he awoke alone he had feared it was all just a dream, sat up so quick it gave him another sense of disorientation. With the first face he saw being an ugly looking boar on the wall staring into his eyes.   
  
“Mornin’.” Arthur’s voice. John looked over and the man was shirtless at the other side of the small cabin and nursing some plants he had littered along the window sill.   
  
“Mornin’.” He responded crooked and gravelly with sleep. The man didn’t pay him much mind, and it gave him plenty of time to study. Morgan was disheveled but in a charming way. Could see the way the sun kissed his skin the most. Could make out the scars he knew and the ones he wondered the stories for.   
  
“Coffee?”   
  
“ _Yes, please.”_ The man stretched out and finally got out of the bed, dressed himself mostly (sans the ruined shirt), and sat back on the bed.  
  
The morning progressed just as sweetly as the day before it. It felt like a sort of heaven that John never thought existed. Wanted it to be his only reality. It could be, he decided to himself, if he worked at it enough. Like how he told Arthur. Abigail would cry, he knew she would, and Arthur would live with them. No matter the dynamic, he knew it would be okay. If he just made his home a place worth living, he and-  
  
“Careful now. Can see the smoke risin’ from your ears with you thinkin’ that hard, Marston.” He offered John his coffee and he took it with a small thanks.   
  
John sipped on the coffee and went back to zoning out. That turned into joining Arthur on a patrol, still with them both loosely dressed. Joined Arthur fishing. Kissed him out on the docks and Arthur almost shoved him into the water and it turned into some play fighting that ended with them on their asses and laughing.   
  
A gunshot was heard overhead which got them both to freeze. The birds in the trees fluttered away from the noise and they scrambled up to their feet. Before they could even try to investigate another shot was heard and Arthur growled out in pain and stumbled back to his knees. The hazy peace being shattered, and maybe John’s hopes were too high for it not to crash so hard.  
  
“Fuck, Arthur!” John rushed to him and crouched. Kept his eyes out for the assailant. “Must be comin’ from the trees-- Arthur, we gotta--”   
  
“No, that ain’t it.” The man barked out at him, holding down on his leg and struggled to stand up. “That ain’t it.” John did what he could to keep him walking, a mixture of fear and adrenaline started to take him.   
  
“What do you _mean that ain’t it?_ Arthur, you’ve been damn shot.” He motioned to his leg even to just point out the obvious. That was blood soaking that pant leg. Could see it seep through Arthur’s fingers.   
  
“Yes, I know, Marston, and I’m tellin’ you it ain’t it! Now ride with me.”   
  
Marston grabbed Arthur’s arm to try and pull him back, try to argue, but this was Arthur Morgan.   
  
“I--Okay.”  
  
All he could do was rush to Rachel and saddle up and saw Arthur do the same with Buell.   
And they were having such an amazing morning. John shook his head and got his horse chasing after this man on trust alone. He had his guns on him, and the pair of the them were the best shots the land knew.   
  
There were more gunshots in the distance and it felt like they were only getting farther away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote a sex scene, almost included the line "ripped John's gun belt off like a beyblade" but didnt. anyway hows your tuesday


	6. May the Sunrise Bring Hope

Arthur Morgan was _happy_ for once in too long and it left a disturbing sense of dread that only a bastard like him would have to endure. All good things must come down and for Arthur it was usually immediate.

He wanted so badly to join John on that shitty farm that he was setting up. To see Charles, Sadie, even Uncle. Make sure it’s good enough for when Abigail would return with little Jack. Or, medium sized Jack now, he supposed.

A weird little community of misfits but this time promised to a simple kind of life. One that they were owed far before fate got its hands on things. Or Dutch Van Der Linde.

 

But no, no, Arthur had a kind of luck that just kept twisting a knife deeper.

Or in this case, a bullet. The man has been shot before, and worse than this, but he doesn’t know the state of that _deer._ That fucking deer. Poachers and hunters alike have been after the thing for years. Even though he’s been able to scare them off most of the time they’ve added plenty to the scars along their bodies. Nothing critical. Not yet. And Arthur prayed it wasn’t today where it’d start. Not with John here. Not after the peace.  


“Where do you think it’s comin’ from?” Marston yelled out from behind him. Loyal and trusting when it mattered.

“Not sure, but it’s gotta be up ahead.” Buell ate the hills easily, wading through the trees and brush.

 

_Another gunshot_

 

Arthur’s heart sank expecting more overwhelming pain or worse but none came. Whoever shot the buck was a novice or the buck was doing well in dodging.

Voices were up ahead and they rode harder to get to them. As it got clearer it was a distinctly childish voice and Arthur yanked on the reigns to prevent him from absolutely trampling whoever was ahead.  
  
Did the job of scaring them though. The stranger all but crumpled to the ground and grabbed his son at the sight of them. A rearing butterscotch mare and a beast of a man yelling from the saddle. Another mean looking gentleman with a scarred face encircling him. It wasn’t a great welcome.  
__  
_“WHAT IN THE_ ** _HELL_** _DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOIN’?”_  
  
“Wh-- I -- “ The stranger was still crumpled mostly in on himself and shielding his son away from the two terrifying men.  
  
“Go on! Answer him!” Marston yelled out from behind them. Their horses were digging at the ground, itching to go on and stomp whatever life was in their way. The man flinched at that alone.  
  
“We-- I was teachin’ the boy to shoot!”  
  
Arthur got off his horse with difficulty and John made it off his horse first to rush the man.  
  
“You was teachin’ the boy to shoot now? That boy shot my friend!”  
  
“What?” The stranger stuttered.  
  
The kid yelled out from under his father’s arms.“No I’s didn’t!” Fearless under the protection and his father tried to scramble back up to his feet. Try not to look yellow in front of his boy.  
  
John only became more irate, “Raisin’ a liar too, sir? Don’t see no one else out here shootin’.”  
  
“John.” Arthur managed by his horse, but the man ignored him.  
  
“ _Excuse me?_ How dare you--” The stranger started before John cocked his revolved by his hip. The sound alone made the man’s eyes widen and struggled his words out. “Now..”  
  
“ _Marston._ ” Arthur hissed and limped over to them finally and grabbed the back of John’s collar and pulled him back. “ _Enough.”_ And before the stranger could be relieved by the seeming mercy, Arthur’s rage didn’t stop at his friend.  
His eyes stayed narrowed and he was a lot more hushed than he was on his horse.  
“What business do you got here in this forest, fellar?”  
  
Hoping to get through to him, the stranger started out with “Well, we was just--”  
  
But his son interrupted him with brutal honesty. “We was shootin’! What’s it to yah?”  
  
“Quite a kid you got there, pardner.” John bit from where he backed off. His gun holstered now, but his hands sitting on his gun belt in a fake relaxation.  
  
“ _Cletus. You be quiet.”_  
  
“But pa!”  
  
“ _Quiet.”_ He gave the kid a quick smack upside the head and put him behind himself. “Fellars, fellars. If yer with the Murfree Broods, I, well, we got no business. I-I swear we’ll be outta yer hair.”  
  
“Do we _look_ like any Murfree Broods, _friend?_ ” His ‘friend’ was anything but friendly. And as Arthur looked tough, felt tough, the pain was making him feel nauseous. Couldn’t keep this up for long.  
  
“I-- I don’t quite know.”  
  
“Sure you don’t. Now I bet you don’t know what you let your boy shoot neither?” All Arthur got was a shake of the head. “Thought not. That’s the Spirit of the Mountain, boy.” He grabbed at the man’s collar and the son yelled out. “Do you know will happen if that buck dies?”  
  
The man gulped.  
  
“You’re the..”  
  
“You take your boy and run. If I see any a your faces this far up this way again, well I hear the curse travels down generations.” With no response Arthur shook the man. “Am I makin’ myself clear?”  
  
“Yessir! Yessir, please. Please don’t curse us. We didn’t mean none.” And from fear, to anger, he was now to begging and Arthur pushed him away like trash.  
  
“Get! Before I change my mind!”  
  
And finally with that they listened. The boy began to rush back to grab the varmint rifle but the stranger grabbed Cletus by the ear and pulled him back. That was in his mind a cursed object now and they had to get the hell out of there.  
  
The two men didn’t say anything until the strangers were out of site and Arthur let himself to grimace. The pain was bright and burning and Arthur put pressure back on it again.  
John was by his side immediately and pulled the man’s arm over his shoulder to take his weight.

  
“Curse runnin’ down generations, huh? “

 

Arthur looked to him with eyes narrowed, ignoring the question. “You just gonna shoot that man in front of his boy, Marston?”  
  
“No! Jesus, Morgan! Was just scarin’ him is all.”

 

He wasn’t impressed and had the audacity to feel like he was better than that when he’s scaring them with fake curses. John didn’t get to make that point because Arthur exhaled instead, “We need to find that buck.”

 

“You good on that leg?”

 

“Fine.” And even if John didn’t believe him he kept on, helping Arthur limp down a path of broken twigs and blood.

 

The forest was quiet when he feared to hear a pained call from the beast. His own pain became overwhelming the quicker he took steps and John told him to slow but _couldn’t._

John couldn’t possibly know the fear of having death bound around on four legs. He could control himself, knew where he was at all times, but this buck.. It was unpredictable.

 

“There it is.” John hushed out and pointed.

 

_It looked fine._

 

_Rattled, maybe. Cautious. John snapped a twig under his clumsy boot and the buck whipped its head to the sound. Blinked at the two of them. Didn’t run._

 

“Wait here.” He whispered to John and pushed himself away. John started to protest but Arthur hushed him. “Get a rope. Prove yourself a rancher, Marston.”

 

“Yessir.” He walked off slowly, creeping around to the other side of the brush.  
  
_Arthur limped forward towards the glowing buck. It’s ears flicked back and forth, blinked. Watching Arthur carefully as he approached him. The air felt chilled again as those beady little eyes stared into his soul. An indescribable feeling of knowledge and familiarity. It let him come up closer but took a step back. Ready to bolt just in case Arthur decided to hurt him while he was already wounded. A fear Arthur knew very well, resonating with “No, I don’t need help. Stay back.”  As well as a certain curiosity of what the human was doing._ __  
__  
_Arthur reached into his satchel and took a small bag of oats and berries out offering it to the deer. It walked forward very slowly, sniffing and investigating what Arthur had like any animal would. Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to him since the time it jumped over him and Hamish._ __  
__  
_It was double Arthur’s size, it’s muscles were defined and it’s markings something unique. The beautiful coat that the buck bore so proudly had as many scars as Arthur did, seasoned by the events of the mountain. Unlike his own leg, that varmint rifle probably didn’t make a full dent in the beast.  And those antlers, he’s never seen anything like it on a deer. Even if it didn’t have that golden aura to it he would know this was something special. Could see Hosea wanting to hunt it if he were still here._ __  
_When it got close enough it slowly accepted the berries and oats in the man’s palm and crunched them away. The man stroked the beast’s snout and it huffed._ __  
__  
“ _That’s a good boy.”_ He mumbled to it. He could see John in the corner of his eye with lasso in hand and kept calm to not spook the beast.  
  
Of course the Buck saw him, it’s head popped up and had readied to run if John hadn’t thrown the rope in time. It caught on it’s antlers and Arthur stepped forward to use all his strength to pull it down over it’s neck. It screamed in frustration and both the men growled out as they held the rope tight as the buck pulled away from them.  
  
“Come on, boy! We gotta get that bullet outta you, you bastard!” It was stubborn as they both pulled and Arthur found himself feeling more and more woozy. He was _fine,_ he’s had worse than this. But god it hurt.    
  
As it started to become too much the buck all at once stopped, huffing and making noises in protest, but eased.  
  
“There we go! That’s a good deer.” John tried his best to ease and it only made an annoyed noise back at him.  

 

“Stubborn old bastard.” Arthur stumbled a little bit and John caught him.  
  
“You or the beast? Now _what_ are we doin’ with this thing?”  
  
“Takin’ it to Charlottes. That okay with you?” His tone was deadpan and strained.  
  
John huffed in amusement, but otherwise resigned. “Just hopin’ you know what you’re doin’ is all.”  
  
Arthur ignored him and whistled for his horse and John did the same. He couldn’t be more enthused to see Buell stomp up and huff with a shake of it’s mane. Let go of the rope to go to his horse and slowly managed to mount up with a deep grimace that he was able to hide from John.  
  
The other man mounted too keeping a strong grip on the rope but the buck seemed to play along. They clicked their tongues and got on the road. The buck had a slight limp on it’s injured limb and it tugged a little bit at the rope because _it was no domesticated thing._ Just as wild as the man it was connected to.  
  
Along the way travelers questioned them about the buck but they only got biting replies in response from the two of them. Even the buck would give an annoyed bleat and flick it’s ears. An odd posse, that was for sure.  
  
Charlotte’s was far up and surprisingly the Buck stayed docile for the trip. It tugged at times, but John steered it right. Kept it going until it accepted bringing brought into an unfamiliar barn. It got unruly when closed in but it seemed Arthur’s presence alone seemed to ease it. It laid down for him, but he knew it was just as in pain as he was.  
  
“Not so bad, Marston.” Arthur muttered and Marston practically gleamed at the compliment.  
  
Charlotte rushed over immediately, her face stricken with worry. Arthur felt a pang of guilt for making her look like that, but he it was becoming harder and harder to concentrate.

“What happened to him?”

 

“Err,” John tried, not really knowing himself. “He got shot.”

 

“By who!?”

 

“Some boy with his pa? He needs to get inside, miss.” And Arthur was appreciative of the both of them at his side, helping him limp into the house. Couldn’t say much for himself, just focusing on not passing out.

 

 _I’ve had worse than this,_ he thought to himself, scathing at his weakness.

He was younger then though. His body was so capable of recovering when he abused it, even through illness. Stubbornly fighting on.

 

He vaguely remembers getting into bed, groaning out in pain as his leg was lifted to safety. He heard John’s voice distant.

 

“Got any medical supplies, ma’am?”

 

“Yes, of course. I’ll go get them.”

 

He remembers John pushing the hair out of his face. Staring at him with those dark eyes filled with concern but still keeping so stoic. Could focus on how older the boy looked now, time raking his face through mud. Arthur found it charming in a way, like Marston had finally found maturity in more ways than one. Arthur blamed it on the beard.

He had the urge to draw John like that.

 

“Stay with me, old man.”

 

Then black.

 

—

 

Arthur didn’t know when he woke up, but he knew a couple things. He was thirsty, he was hungry, and he was alone. His leg had a familiar ache, something he tried to ignore when he began to remove the sheets of Charlotte’s spare bed.

It was like deja vu, the moment he scooted out of the bed the door opened and an angry character caught him.

 

“Just _what_ do you think you’re doin’?” John.

 

“I’m _fine_.” He could swear he’s had this conversation before.

 

“You’re a stubborn old fool is what you are, Arthur Morgan. Get the hell back in bed.” And without giving him much chance to argue he pushed Arthur back into the sheets and pulled them over. Tried to keep back a wince when his leg was disturbed but failed.

 

“Think I prefer Charlotte. You make a terrible nurse maid, Marston.” He grunted and fixed himself back in bed.

 

John huffed and dusted his hands. “Well I’m as good as you’re gonna get.”

 

“How’s the buck?”

 

“Fine. It wanted real bad to kick my face in for gettin’ that bullet out. Nasty thing. Fixed it up with Ms. Charlotte’s help. She wasn’t real scared of blood like I thought she’d be.”

 

“Mm, yeah, she’s been through a lot since I first saw her. Ain’t scared a much unless she’s smart to.”

 

John tipped his hat. “Well, just glad you’re still alive, Morgan. And I mean that. I’ll uh, I’ll fix you somethin’ to eat.”

 

“How long was I out for?”

 

“Uh, day, maybe two now.”

 

His hunger made sense now and he rubbed his face. John left and without the overwhelming fear of dying he was able to relax again. He remembered when that dread was his daily norm. Should consider himself lucky now that some incident like this was because of a _kid learning how to shoot,_ rather than being shot up by some pinkertons. Or, by Dutch himself.  
  
The man hasn’t thought about Dutch in a long time, not the Dutch that betrayed him at least. The memories of his youth that shaped his morals, the Dutch that taught him to show the world he was better, those he would think of all the time. Liked it better that way.  
  
But remembering the way the man looked at him as he left him for dead..  
  
Steps coming from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts with John entering with a bowl of soup and Arthur sat up to take it. The man pulled up a chair next to the bed then got comfortable and they both sighed. Then chuckled warmly. Tired, maybe, but overall they fell into a comfortable silence as Arthur ate his food and John watched him. Arthur never told John to leave even when he was falling asleep hunched over on the bedside.  
Arthur reached down to knock off John’s hat to give his short hair a small pass through before letting him be.  
  
When he awoke John was gone and it was a new day. Arthur was breathing fine, fever free, achy but not in excruciating pain. Knew he had nothing to worry about. Felt bad for scaring John and Charlotte so bad.  
He pulled himself out of bed and winced as he limped out of his room.  
By the warmth of the air he could tell it was morning, the light softly passing through the windows. The quietness of the house told it was empty and he stretched. No one to tell him to get back in bed.  
  
He took advantage of it and got dressed in fresh clothes, collected his pack and thought to maybe take the morning light to find inspiration of the new day. He always found art easier when the sky held the moods for him. The sunset on the west used to be his favorite, but he’s grown to enjoy the sunrise.  
  
With no one to impress he let himself limp outside the house, wondering where a good spot to go, or if just sitting on the porch would do it. Wondered how the river looked today-- A thought came to him. The buck. Had almost forgotten about the darn thing.  
He made his way too the small barn-- If it was considered a barn, more like a shed. It didn’t hold much and that was even after Arthur’s adjustments to it. Pulled open the doors a bit to let light in.  
  
_The moment the door opened the Buck rose to it’s feet. It’s back leg giving a small kick to shake off the injury. In the darkness of the shed the glow wasn’t bright like it was during certain times of the day where the sun was most aggressive, just as if it had it’s own touch of heat. It’s coat retaining the kisses of the light. Gorgeous._ __  
__  
He closed the door somewhat so the light still could pour in a crack.  
  
“Nn, Arthur.” The gravelly voice near spooked the mountain out of him.  
  
“Jesus, Marston! God damn it.”  
  
Marston laughed heartily in response, wiping some sleep from his eyes from where he sat on the bale in the corner.  
  
“What you doin’ in here?” Arthur walked over slowly to a hay bale and carefully took a seat with a grit of his teeth.  
  
“Just was, uh, keepin’ a watch on this thing. Since you find it so important. Been feedin’ it some cheese and I think it likes it.” To give example he reached into his pack and plucked off a piece of something he had tucked away and tossed it to the Buck. It rushed over to the piece and ate it happily with a huff.  
  
“You’re gonna make it fat.”  
  
John just laughed softly and tossed another piece to it.  
  
Arthur got out his sketch book and decided this was the inspiration he knew the sun was giving him. The light how it sunk through the door crack onto John’s face. His relaxed shoulders and soft smile. The buck making everything near it look a little small. Even as he kept his eyes on the scene rather than his paper he knew his pencil was capturing the movement. Only tearing his eyes away to go into the intricate detail.  
That moment was forever encaptured now, and Arthur took his time to etch out the background of the barn, the details in John’s clothes, along with a little bit more volume to that beard John had going.  
  
“Been tryin’ my hand at that too, you know. I uh,” John interrupted and reached into his own satchel and pulled out a familiar journal. “I held onto it.”  
  
Arthur blinked, didn’t know why he assumed John _wouldn’t_ have it, but it was odd seeing the thing.  
“Give it here.” And John did, standing up and let Arthur take it. Just the very feel of the leather sent a wave of nostalgia over him. He flipped through the pages, recognizing the animals he studied, the sketches of the camps they ran to. The pages of sad writing. Realized John had read all of it, and he scratched at his beard a little to ignore that embarrassment.  
  
“Just, don’t read too far ahead, kinda.” And as John awkwardly tried to warn him Arthur flipped to the most recent entries. The scratches of guidelines and small scribbled handwriting updating not his life, but John’s , accompanied by small drawings of the man’s own. Weren’t good, but they were something. “I just thought, since.” He reached for it back, scratching absently at the back of his neck and Arthur offered it back to him.  
  
“I know. Thanks for, uh, keepin’ it safe. After all this time.”  
  
John shrugged and put it back in his pack and sat down next to Arthur on the same hay bale. The buck had curled up on itself. “Thought you was dead. That, a few pictures a you, and your hat.. It’s all I had.”  
  
Felt sappy, melancholic, like they were both still mourning, and maybe they were.  
  
  
Arthur shut his sketchbook and tucked it away to grab a pack of cigarettes instead. Offered one to John and lit them both. Two of them smoked in silence, enjoying just the sounds of the mornings birds. The cool air. Each other’s presence.

 

“When you goin’ back?”

 

John didn’t need to ask what he meant. “Was hopin’ you’d be joinin’ me.”

 

Arthur took a long drag and answered him with smoke between his teeth. “You know I can’t.”

 

“No, I don’t. You been sayin’ all types of things but not why. Think that’s owed. With this buck bullshit and all.”

 

He was right. Arthur had been dancing around the subject. Could anyone blame him? It… was unbelievable. In a way that was different than some miracle cure with a lick of logic to it.

 

“I can’t _leave,_ John.” He finally said. He didn’t make eye contact but he knew John’s eyes were fixed on him. “If I do, it.. Well, I..” _How to word this without sounding crazy._ “It’s keeping me here.”

 

“It?” John asked, “The buck?”

 

“Yes— Naw. The _spirit._ The _Mountain,_ John. It brought me back. To protect it, I think. And I been doin’ that. If I try to leave, the illness feels like it’s takin’ me. Like I’m on borrowed air.”

 

When Arthur looked at John he was just blinking at him, his head cocked, then squinted. Processing that information.

“The _what now?”_ He laughed but the cogs were turning. “This... _Mountain_.. s’got you doin’ it’s dirty work? And it let you live, but won’t let you leave…”

 

“S’what I’ve come to figure. Laugh if you’ve gotta.”

 

And he did. Shaking his head and fixing his hat.

“Well, what’s this buck got to do with anything? How’d you both get shot?”

 

That was a question Arthur couldn’t easily get out an answer for. He had his suspicions on what the buck was to him, but he wasn’t certain. “It’s just as much as the Mountain Spirit as I am, I guess.”

 

“Uhuh.” And John mumbled “ _Mountain spirit.”_ under his breath.

“Well,” he stood up. “Well, maybe if we bring the buck with us. Then it can live on the ranch just as much as you will.”

 

“On your _rock farm.”_

 

He was knocked speechless by that. Definitely a wrench in his plan, but could tell that John just didn’t believe him. Angered him a little that he didn’t.

 

“We’ve got Charles and Uncle, we can figure it out, Arthur. Ain’t gonna stay a rock farm. Can build the rest.”

 

“A rancher _and_ a carpenter now? You’re just a man of the trades since I last saw you, Marston. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be a good father too because then I’ll really start worryin’.” Arthur chuckled and tapped away some ash from his cigarette but John wasn’t laughing with him.

 

“You told me to be somethin’ for them. Here I am. Real sorry I was never some, _trapper_ on my downtime like you managed. I can shoot a gun and sound real mean, that’s it. You told me to be one person and it’s what I know versus what y’all want me to be, so cut me some damn slack, will you? I’m tryin’ here. I’m, I’m tryin’ real hard.” John had gotten up and paced, scratching at his beard, fixing his hat. His little ticks that were John Marston at his rawest.

 

“Hey now, I’m sorry, John.” And he was. Stood up and closed some distance but other man wasn’t much having it. “You done real fine while I was gone. I’m just givin’ you some trouble.” It really was like easing a troubled horse.

 

“Well it ain’t funny.” He sighed and the buck huffed where it slept. “I’m just. I want you in this life I wanna make for Abigail and Jack. Even if you havin’ you in it comes along with some _Mountain Ghost_ and whatnot.”

 

Arthur had to realize just how much John _had changed_ while he’d been gone. He was taking responsibility, and even though he was running right now, it wasn’t the same John 12 years ago. He looked like a man who was ready to build a ranch from the ground up. A man who’d do anything to make sure his family was safe, a family who he deemed so. Made him proud in a way.

Made him feel guilty for giving him a hard time.

 

“I just, don’t want you gettin’ your hopes up about me being there, John.” And John looked away. Their cigarettes had both exhausted themselves while they spoke and Arthur took one final drag from his. John just flicked his out.

 

“I know. I know..” He sighed, his gaze on the buck and so he was taken by short surprise when Arthur closed the distance to kiss him.

 

It was short but John replaced it with another. Even though Arthur kept his movements languid and calm he could feel the hesitancy in Johns. Probably figuring if he was still mad at Arthur or not. Hesitation easily turned to greed. Tightly gripped Arthur’s forearms and stepped forward some and tilted his head further. The older man held the small of his back.

 

_The buck huffed in annoyance and stood up._

John and Arthur broke their kiss to look over at the beast.

 

“Yeah, get. Go lay down or somethin’.” Arthur ordered it and it shockingly listened. Or maybe a coincidence but it stepped over to the other corner of the small area and curled up with its back to the men.

 

John huffed a small chuckle and Arthur kissed him one more time.

“We’re wastin’ daylight, boy.”

 

“I don’t consider it wastin’. What, this bein’ the last time we’re alone together until sleepin’ next to Uncle for the rest of our days.”

 

“You ain’t makin’ that sound comin’ with you appetizing, Marston.”

 

“Maybe it ain’t! But I’m a selfish man, Arthur Morgan.”

 

Arthur grinned and nodded, “Don’t need to tell me that, already been know. Don’t know why I humor you when you’ll just take what you want and more. Always been that way.” The words weren’t stern and John didn’t take them so.

 

“Now who the hell can I blame that on?” John leaned in close enough their foreheads pressed together. That hat of his dangerously inching to fall.

 

“Me? Selfish? Maybe. Selfish as you? Naw. Think you were born like that, boy. Had to always grab your collar and yank you away from grabbin’ seconds from the rations. ‘Member that?”

 

“I was hungry.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Okay. I’m real selfish. Let me be that way. It ain’t hurtin’ no one right now is it?” He let his hands drag over his chest and pulled at the man’s fixed jacket.

 

Arthur kissed him again and with a couple steps had John pressed against the shed wall. His head dipped down to give the man’s neck a couple kisses. Could feel John swallow and offer his neck more to him. Guess the hat finally had enough and fell to their feet and Arthur replaced it with his hand to card his fingers through. Just the small actions alone he could feel John hitch his breath.

 

He loved it. Missed this more than he thought he did. He had refrained from getting involved with anybody for so long. Not quite a lack of interest but maybe his self loathing go too much most of the time. Just the thought of being with women would remind him of Eliza and Mary, being with a man would remind him of John.

 

Arthur figures most men would suck it up and distract himself instead, but he wasn’t like other men he supposed.

 

Most men wouldn’t lie with their best friends that’s for sure. He used to feel sick and twisted for it for a long time but he had to come to accept that with the rest of himself. Knew it scared John more. He wondered if John ever accepted that part of him too.

 

Clearly didn’t look too upset with the way he looked at Arthur, his cheeks a little flushed and his eyes telling the rest. And if there was any mistake in what he wanted his hands definitely cleared any misunderstandings, grabbing Arthur’s gun belt and undid it. Let it drop to the floor with a satisfying clunk and the way he gave him a toothy grin afterward.

 

Of course Arthur gave him what he wanted.

John had convinced him to use animal fat of all things, “ _Ain’t no gun oil. What’s the harm in it?”_ And it worked. Kind of gross, but it, uh, worked.

 

The man under him ended up like a dog getting scratched in his favorite spot, near howling in that gravelly low voice at times with his legs quivering. Liked it most when he pulled at his short hair. Or when he interrupted him with a kiss and switched the way he loved on him.

 

John finished first then Arthur soon after and they had done a great job desecrating the small shed. Panting against each other to catch their breath, Arthur putting his weight fully against John because he still had that bad leg that couldn’t take the weight of them.

In that moment there, it was a warm happiness Arthur felt in his core. Exhaustion, affection, and possessiveness. Didn’t think it was love like a man and wife, but a certain type of love he held just for the man named John Marston.

 

One that had lots of hiccups, some scars, and lots of patience.

 

John begged him to lay in the hay with him but Arthur refused. Not with the buck looking antsy like it was. Felt kinda shameful for doing that with John so close to it and he wasn’t sure if he was projecting his emotions on it but it looked mighty judgemental.

 

“Like I haven’t seen you bleatin’ at the does in the wild. I seen that posse you got, ya bastard.” Arthur fixed his gun belt over his hips and clasped it shut. John kind of just looked at him in amusement as he got himself fixed up and lighting another cigarette.

 

Darling enough now the two of them had a bit of a matching limp.

 

Took them a little too long trying to wrangle the beast, somehow more difficult in such a small space with it whipping it’s head around.

Managed it somehow, it called out in complaints and pulled at them and backed itself in the corner. Arthur and John eased up on the rope until it slowly relaxed and John went to the door and opened it up.  
  
“C’mon, Mister Mountain Deer.” The man motioned for the buck to exit and it didn’t seem too pleased to be manipulated like this but it slowly walked out. Arthur limped beside it with the rope loose and their horses huffed nearby.  
  
“Let’s get mount up.” John took the rope from Arthur and led the buck to the horses and it immediately started chewing on some grass.  
  
There was the issue of his home, his clothes, his mementos. Everything he had here, Charlotte, his patrols, his supplies. Morgan knew it was his doubt that kept him from worrying about it.  
Speaking of Charlotte, he saw her riding up with some game hanging off her horse.  
  
“Arthur! You look better!” She called out to him, leading her horse to the stable.

 

“Yup, glad I caught ya.” He limped over to greet her.

 

It wasn’t hard to deduce something was going on and her bright face was blank, waiting for an explanation.

 

“John’s gonna show me this ranch a his.”

 

“Ah, that sounds great.” A genuine smile.

 

“It’s in uh, Blackwater.” Arthur finished and her face paled.

 

“But Arthur,” She tied her horse down and absently wiped blood at her skirt.

 

“Good ol’ Boy is comin’ with us. Seein’ maybe he makes a difference.”

 

_The buck raised it’s head to stare at them both then back to eating grass. Ate some cheese that John continued to drop to the ground. John gave a startled yell when it stepped over and tried stuffing its face in John’s pack. “Bad buck! Bad!”_

 

John was easily ignored.

 

“So, you’re not sure if it will work?”

 

She took Arthur’s silence as a yes and she hung her head for a moment then looked back up to him.

“Well, stay safe. And please visit. You know you will always be welcome here. You’ve been so good to me when I thought nature was done with kindness, I couldn’t even start to thank you.”

 

“Don’t need to.”

 

Hesitation first then she closed the distance to give Arthur a tight hug. Surprised sure, but he accepted it and patted the small of her back.

 

She smiled as she pulled back then looked to Marston who was still fighting off the deer.

 

“And thank you, John. You’re welcome here too, whenever you need.”

 

“It— It was uh, nice meetin’ you, ma’am.” John tipped his hat before the Buck snatched it from his head and tried eating it. “Hey!”

 

After laughter and one more goodbye they saddled up and the Buck started off with them. It’s golden sheen only brightening against the full sun.

They passed all of Arthur’s favorite spots on the path. The spots he’d sit and overlook everything below. As he was planning here to leave it, he never valued the mountain more.

 

 _Take care of this mountain for it will be your final resting place_ popped in his head again. It sounded less like Hosea’s voice and more like his own every time he thought of it.

 

John made lots of conversation as they passed, discussing plans once they get there. Morgan didn’t join in too much, but added some notes about the scenery. Discuss sometimes the weird strangers he’d help along the path. Or they’d ride in silence with the wild Buck bounding next to them.

 

The sun had began to fall when they crossed the final bridge heading to strawberry. To civilization. Something he hasn’t known in… in too long. Even with such a hole of a town, the thought of that many people all in one place. It was making him feeling uneasy. Knew the Buck was feeling that way too.

 

There was still a while to go before they hit the limit that Arthur marked with a rock all the years ago. Plenty of time to mull over this new anxiety on top of the chance he might die. He breathed slowly, trying to keep himself collected.

 

The rock he had placed was coming up. He could see it.

 

He shut his eyes and took in a sharp breath, preparing for the worst. John seemed unaware, his concentration on the buck and keeping it from bounding off or pulling too hard on Rachel.

 

Strawberry was further down. Just further down.

He thought about all those innocent people he shot there. The chaos he created all for the sake of that rat, that he continued to create for that rat.

Before it became overwhelming the buck _stalled._

 

“ _Woah!!”_ John yelled out as he tightened his grip on the rope, almost ripped him off his horse if Rachel didn’t neigh and stalled with him.

 

Arthur was still feeling okay. Anxious, but not dying.

Both men dismounted to try and ease the buck. Hushing it. Cooing at it. It only pulled harder.

 

“ _God damn it!!”_ John cursed with the Buck giving a last yank and pulled them both forward and ripping the rope from them and rearing. It looked about to trample the two of them, would have too, if Arthur wasn’t on the ground with him.

 

It huffed and shook with the rope around it’s neck, agitated before finally rushing back up the path. And suddenly Arthur felt very _wrong._

 

Should have recognized that wrongness before but he was too busy afraid of a damn town.

 

“We were so close.. How you feelin’ Arthur?” The man sat up, a clear wince but he fought through it to help Arthur up.

 

“I,” He started. It wasn’t the wrongness of _death,_ he knew, instead a deepset anxiety. Something bad was going to happen. He felt it. He knew that feeling. The Buck stopped him to go back. He had followed for so long but he stopped to go back.

 

Arthur stumbled and growled as the pain in his leg flared up a little, his attention unfocused.

 

“Arthur.” John was growing more concerned as he didn’t get a straight answer.

 

“I’m— I’m okay. We need, I need to go back.” His eyes were set on the deer, on the mountain.

 

“We’ve come so far. You ain’t dead, we can make it.” It was on deaf ears and he knew it. He was hoping it wasn’t, was in his voice.

 

Arthur mounted up anyway. Headed after the buck and into the mountain because he needed to. Because he _had_ to. This mountain was just as much of him as his own skin, he knew that now. He didn’t want it to, but there was something wrong and he couldn’t ignore it.

 

“ _Arthur!!”_ He heard John call after him. He leaned against into Buell and they passed the rock that marked his limits and back into the expanse of his bones.  
  
He found himself coughing shortly on his way up. Like he had something stuck in his throat or he was choking on something. It wasn’t until he saw in the distance billowing of smoke when it made sense. His stomach sank. He knew he shouldn’t have left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont use lard as lube !! thanks this is a PSA
> 
> Also, I made art for chapter 3! It's somethin' small but let me know if theres anything you'd like to see drawn out. https://i.imgur.com/7wjXcAv.jpg


	7. You'll Ask Me To Pray For Rain

The smoke it was coming from over the ridge right up above Valentine. It was trickier getting there, lots of odd twists and turns which he and Buell moved through in a memorized fashion.  
His leg burned with each gallop but he sucked it up, too worried about what the smoke could mean. Even as he wanted to feel frustrated that the mountain was coming up with reasons for him not to leave he only found himself going “I told you so.” His own self prophet. 

John had stopped yelling after him for awhile and the darkness was beginning to settle into the sky. The dry wind bristling the trees. Almost reminded him of desert nights with how the air felt. Didn’t smell like it, missing the nostalgic dust and instead smelling fresh with pine. Dry though. Very dry for a summer up here. Maybe the only reason he was so damn worried about the fire. Could take out half of the forest if not prevented. Seemed large too, larger than any campfire.

“Arthur!” John called out to him again, his gravelly voice strained and exhausted. As well as ignored. 

The smoke was up ahead and Arthur finally slowed on Buell, cautiously trotting ahead. John slowed too and matched his speed heading into the brush. Yelling was heard, but not screaming. Probably drunken. Singing too?   
Arthur was on edge which put John on edge and that meant they both had one hand on their holsters. Ready for whatever lied ahead.

The fire was becoming clear and Arthur finally dismounted and pushed back some tree branches to enter the clearing. It was bright orange, the fire mean and angry as it spiked the heat of the air. The crackling was loud but so was the hollering. John was more on edge than Arthur was, could feel his expectation to fight from just the tension of the man’s shoulders.  


 

“Ah, what the hell.” Arthur slumped his shoulders all at once. 

 

That fire? Nothing more than a large bonfire. And that yelling? Three or four kids drunk on some moonshine dancing around like hooligans. 

They all stopped at once, eyes widening at the two of them. Scrambled to find their bearings except for one who was half passed out on the ground. 

 

“Jesus Christ. Where are your parents?” As if John couldn’t see the irony in that statement at all. Bitter as ever. 

 

“What’s it to you, mister?” Said one, proudly. 

 

John looked to Arthur. “What  _ is it  _ with kids these days? I swear.” 

 

Arthur waved him off and hung his head a bit stepping slowly towards the little misfits. 

“Easy now. Play time’s over. Go on.” 

 

Nothing. 

 

Arthur sighed.   
“Just- Be _careful_ , about this bonfire. The airs real dry right now, could catch on somethin’.” His hands hooked on his belt and slacked his shoulders. Tried his best not to look too threatening. Doubted John standing next to him all wound up helped any.  
  
Maybe a little too nonthreatening. The kids looked at them like they got four heads between them and just busted up laughing. John bristled for a moment stepping forward then exhaled. That flame in him bursting then fizzling once he tried to come to the situation.   
  
“Alright, old man!!” One of them shouted and took a large swig of the unmarked bottle and bent right over and pulled his pants down to shake his ass in the air. “How’s this!?”  
  
Arthur and John were absolutely stunned.   
  
The boys just lost it and started dancing around again, hollering, hooting.   
Arthur tried his very _best_ to not to engage. It was trying, he wanted to. He glanced to John who held his hand over his face, clearly in the same state as he was. Wanting to laugh, wanting to shout, wanting to do _something_ other than just stand there stupid.   
  
Arthur pulled his pistol out and aimed towards the sky and shot twice.   
“That funny now!?” The boys screamed and ducked down, but some were still laughing. One was passed out by a tent. “Get outta here! Run, boys!” Another shot.  
  
“Sorry, sorry, mister!” One slurred out as they tripped over a branch and crawled away into the bushes. The screaming turned into more laughter making it into the woods.   
  
The crackle of the embers became the only sound to settle over them once again. John walked over investigating the little camp no longer wound up as he was before. Leaned over the little body, gave it a small kick then let the boy be. Arthur walked around it and sighed.  
  
It still felt like he had a little bit of something in his throat and he wasn’t sure what. It was too coincidental to not be related to today, but Arthur tried to ignore it for now. Tried to. He reached down and grabbed one of the unmarked jugs. Gave it a shake, felt mostly full.   
Decided to give it a taste too and _boy._   
  
“Hooo! That is, oh, that is somethin’.” Arthur coughed out, feeling the burn run from his tongue down to settle in his stomach. It tasted absolutely awful. Didn’t even know what it was mixed with, probably the devil himself.   
  
John came walking back from where he investigated on the the other side of the clearing, his hands on his hips. A lot more relaxed than before, they both were, but he was not happy. Their eyes met and Marston glanced away.   
“Some emergency, huh.”   
  
Arthur didn’t know why that pissed him off as it did. Tried his best not to engage.  
“I’d say so.” There was a pause. Arthur took another swig of the undoubtedly outright _poison_ in a jug. Coughed a little. Wiped his mouth.   
  
Fire was bright and warm, welcoming even in the heat of the summer. Cool air would come through the brush sometimes, push the flames into a new dance. Hypnotizing in a way. Arthur crouched down carefully then sat down next to it. Better than to find himself entangled in John’s hurricane of emotions.   
  
John didn’t settle though. He paced around the small clearing, fake investigating. Faking a calm that he knows they both saw right through. Arthur tired of it quick.  
  
“Would you sit _down,_ Marston?”   
  
John stalled his pacing, his fingers tapping on himself before he gave an indistinct shrug. He turned to walk plop himself next to Arthur with a short grimace.   
Silence turned over again, the two of them zoning out into the flames. John had something to say, Arthur knew it. The way he fidgeted. It may have been years since he’s saw the man, but his mannerisms always stayed distinct. Pretend like all was fine then let it build up then act surprised when it exploded in his face. That, or he really was just plain dumb. It was always difficult to figure.   
  
Arthur had to speak up again. “I don’t know the answers to the questions you’ve got cooking up in that head of yours. Hope you know that.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
John’s eyes were fixed on him now. The sharpness he recognized when he was younger.   
“You don’t know a damn thing, huh?”   
  
Arthur shrugged.   
  
“You really are crazy then.”   
  
He laughed at that, shrugging again. “Most the time I feel like it.” He took another long swig from the moonshine and then offered it to John who accepted it in kind.   
  
“Whoo, _hell,_ what _is this?”_ He coughed a little and that raspy voice of his dropped an octave as he cleared his throat.   
  
“Whatever it is, it tastes stolen.” That got a chuckle out of John finally. He passed the jug back for Arthur to take another swig. The familiar warmth sitting in his stomach.   
  
More silence and more passing the jug back and forth between them. Until his slouch became a little more relaxed. John’s designs he dug into the ground with his knife becoming sloppy.   
  
“Mm, that was a lie.”   
  
Time had passed long enough for John to be rightly confused on what he meant, looking over at him cockeyed.   
  
“I know a lot more than I want to. You won’t believe me though.”   
  
“What the hell’s that’s supposed to mean?”

“Don’t tell me you truly believe me, John.” Arthur’s tone was deadpan, cutting through any bullshit. He was tired of it, and getting a little tipsy. 

“I believe you plenty.” 

Arthur laughed at that and he fetched a cigarette from his bag and swiped a match on the sole of his boot. Took a long inhale of the smoke and exhaled it. 

“I didn’t make it off that mountain, boy.” 

“What do you mean.” 

“It means what you know I’m sayin’. I died up there. Was a ghost of a person, livin’ on borrowed time, now turned to… somethin’. A-Uh, a reincarnation of a man.” 

John looked at him stupidly, took a long swig if the swill in the jug then motioned his hand. “Go on. ‘M listening.” 

He took another drag from his cigarette, blowing it out through gritted teeth. Has always been hard to word it. 

“I closed my eyes one last time on a sunrise, John. Then this fuckin  _ Buck,  _ of all things. It told me somethin’ like it was givin’ me another chance. That I had some, heart a gold or somethin’ stupid like that. After all the things we done. It had the nerve... But the thing that was craziest of all was.. could have sworn it was Hosea who was speakin to me.” 

 

John didn’t react. Not verbally at least. Didn’t laugh when Arthur knew he probably wanted to. Instead his expression was focused, concerned. Shocked too, perhaps.

 

So Arthur continued. “And boy I screamed when I got to the bottom of that mountain. Screamed for you, for Dutch. Abigail. Little Jack. The others. People we lost.” He tapped out the ash from the cigarette and then took one last long drag. “I was just got done sayin’ I wasn’t able to make it. That we was doomed, Dutch and I, Micah.

Then, well. That widow Charlotte found my sorry ass. Started gettin’ better then never stopped. Found out I get real sick going too far from the mountain and specifically near people. Had to realize I was never gonna see the West again, but can’t complain too bad. Somehow got caught up in keeping track of that buck that’d come and visit and soon enough I became some half assed fairy tale.”

“The Man of the Mountain.” John finally spoke. Caught Arthur off guard. 

“They talked about you a lot when I lived near Roanoke Ridge. Buncha crazy fools I figured. But it was you.” The man pulled his hat off to run his dirty fingertips through his short, black hair.

“Oh they’re still a bunch a crazy fools.” They both chuckled and John took another swig before passing it over and Arthur finished it off. It tasted a lot better when he couldn’t taste it as much.

“So you’re just some ghost? Is that what I’m hearing right?” 

“No. Well, don’t think so. Little bit more complicated. Imagine, alright. If you can. Imagine if a mountain was a person.” 

 

John had to close his eyes to do it. “Okay.” 

“And that person was me.” 

“....Okay.” 

“And well, that’s it.” 

“That’s it.” 

“Yup.” 

 

His eyes were still shut but his nose scrunched. 

“Well what in the world does the damn buck have to do with anything?”

Arthur shrugged. “That’s me too I’ve reckoned.”

His eyes opened and he nodded very slowly. “Alright.. I think I get it.” 

 

Silence. 

 

“So you’ve just completely lost it up here then?” 

So nothing changed. Arthur sighed, resigned. Was a good conclusion as any. “You know I always been crazy.”

“Just savin’ folks and mountain fevered now.” 

“See? You’ve gotten a lot smarter since you were a boy, Marston.” He laughed heartily and patted his shoulder. “Knew those rocks would rattle into some sort a brain cells.” 

He pushed off Arthur’s hand and rolled his eyes. “Be careful now, least I figure I’m the crazy one and you’re just some.. some figure of my imagination.” He fixed his hat back on his head. “It’d be a lot more believable than what you’re on about.” 

“Hell, maybe you’re right. But I do know one thing.” 

“What’s that, you wild old coot.” 

“Somethin’s bads gonna happen— And it ain’t gonna be a bonfire with some hooligans. It’s gonna be big.  _ It’s gonna be bad _ .” 

 

His tone was dark. Could see John’s face get careful, serious. “How do you figure—“

Arthur laughed and shoved at him. “I’m just messin’ with you. I don’t know. Mountain don’t tell me shit.” 

“You got one fine sense a humor, Morgan.” He wasn’t laughing, rolling his eyes again instead.

 

Silence settled over them again like a sigh. The fire dancing to its own tune. Arthur had been joking about the premonition but he still felt something dark in his mind. He had no clue what it was or even how to describe the feeling. Anticipation? 

Even when his immediate fear was resolved by just being a couple kids being stupid he didn’t like how the Buck ran off like it did. Was harder to pinpoint with the moonshine so heavy in his belly.

 

Begs the question, could he leave with it? He wasn’t striking up the dissociative feeling like it did all the times before. If the Buck didn’t pull away… could he have made it?

 

“So, what happens now?” John spoke up. Surprised Arthur a little.

“Huh?” 

“You ain’t comin’ with me. Gonna stay up here then?” There was disappointment in his voice.

“I suppose so.”

 

Quiet. 

 

“When I get Abigail and Jack back, we’ll all visit, you know.” John dug his knife deeper into the ground and twisted it back and forth. 

“Don’t you dare think about bringin’ Uncle with you. Got enough maggots on this mountain.” 

“M’ sure we won’t have a choice in that matter.” John grinned and shook his head.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Reckon not.” 

“Bet he’ll make a good companion out here. Sleeps on the floor like a damn rat, you’ll hardly know he’s here.” 

“You are  _ not  _ dumpin’ him on me, Marston.” They were both finding themselves laughing, shaking their heads and sighing at just the thought of the annoying man.

“He’s just so  _ annoying _ . Would’ve ran him off but he’s been finding himself useful in, well, weird ways.” 

“Just useful enough to keep you from draggin’ him behind your horse.” 

“Exactly.” They chuckled together and John rubbed at his beard. “He helped me find Charles. He was in Saint Denis doin’ some.. Charles like things. Fightin' mostly.” 

Arthur sighed nicely. “Now that’s a man I’d like to see again. Worried about him a lot. Him and the Wapiti, and the  _ shit _ they got dealt with.” Arthur pulled his good leg up to his chest and leaned on it. If any man deserved to be a protector of a mountain it’d be someone like Charles. He’s always thought that. Someone who never had to think about his actions before doing good. Never had to have the constant internal struggle of morals that took him his whole life to learn what was true and what wasn't.

“I’ll bring him.” That ended the conversation.  


 

John stood up slowly and walked over to the horses to fetch his bedroll. Arthur stayed where he was, staring back into the flames of the bonfire. It was just the two of them, the fire, and the passed out kid on the other side of the flames and it stayed that way all night. 

Arthur managed to stay awake the entire night, deciding to work on his journal as he kept watch. He sketched the loose form of sleeping John and how he was splayed out. Trusting him completely to keep him safe from any danger that might disrupt the night. 

Hurt his heart a little, feeling it ache as he valued what that meant for a person who was trained from childhood not to.

 

The bonfire was still going in the morning, barely holding on for life as the sun broke in through the tree limbs. John shifted in his sleep until the birds chirping in the trees got too obnoxious. Arthur was crouched over the aching embers and prodding them with a stick. Looked over at his friend stretched out.   
  
“Mornin’.” And his greeting was repeated.    
  
The poor boy on the other side of the ashes was still conked out. John rubbed his eyes and yawned before pointing. Didn’t need to say anything, Arthur stood up fully and walked around to go and nudge the kid with his foot. Didn’t move much except for a small grimace.    
  
With a sigh he crouched down next to him and prodded him awake and the kid groaned lowly. Arthur pulled his canister of water off himself and sat the kid up a little.   
“C’mon, son.” And with that the boy listened, struggling to get the liquid down his throat, sputtering and then fussing to throw up on the ground. Arthur just patted his shoulders and sighed.    
“All your friends ranned off somewhere. Can’t tell you where.”    
  
The boy only wheezed in response, gagging some more.    
  
“Arthur.” John called out to him as he packed up his stuff. “Think I’m gonna head out.”    
  
Disappointment fell over him, and he looked to the child he cared for to gingerly set him down. He remembered when this emotion was more aggressive, fearing whenever John would leave that he’d never see him again. He was always so bitter, now it was only just a subtle sinking feeling.    
  
He stepped over some of the debris left by the hooligans and John waited for him before saddling up.    
“Alright, well stay safe.” Arthur put a hand on John’s shoulder and squeezed. John just nodded and set his hand over Arthur’s in a painful sort of way.   
  
“I have somethin’ for you.” John pulled away and went to Rachel’s bags, rifling through and plucked out something familiar. He tucked it behind himself until he was close enough and fixed the hat right on Arthur’s head.    
  
“Just thought, since, you’re not dead anymore.” His eyes kept downcast, for some reason keeping this moment bittersweet. Made him have to grab John’s wrist and jaw to kiss him. It wasn’t supposed to be a farewell kiss but it damn felt like one. “I’ll be back when I can.” He mumbled against his lips and Arthur nodded as he pulled away.   
  
“‘M gonna stay here and watch over this kid and make sure he gets back home. Stay careful now.”    
  
John mounted up and patted Rachel’s neck. “You too, Arthur Morgan.” He tipped his hat to him and yipped for Rachel to get going.    
  
Arthur removed his hat to look at it, thumb over the worn leather. The scratches he recognized and there were some that he didn’t. He held it to his chest for a moment then set it back on his head. The memories he’s had with the thing, even to the very one where he got it, they felt so fresh yet so old.  Having it back felt like a little piece of him came back home.   
  
“Grrgghhh….hhhhggh.”    
  
The man looked back over to the kid who was weakly attempting to sit up and Arthur sighed.    
“Easy. Easy now.” He went over and bent down carefully and helped him drink some more water, then offered some health cure. “Where you from, boy?”    
  
“Va...Valentine.” The boy groaned out and sputtered on the health concoction but got it down. “Where… who’s..”    
  
“You’re safe, son. Your little buddies ditched last night. Seems you all had a little too much to drink. Let’s get you back home.” It was said with a softness that he’d become to settle in when he wasn’t being scary mountain creature. Kindness that he’s forced himself to learn again. It’s become a lot easier now that he’s older. It was never a chore, but it was always something he had to come to hesitate on.    
  
He used to be a bad, bad man.    
  
The poor kid nodded slowly and Arthur helped him up to his feet. Kid’s nose was running and he didn’t look great with sick dripping from the corner of his mouth.    
  
“Uh, here.” Arthur offered a hankercheif from his pocket and the kid accepted it immediately. Blowing into it and wiping his nasty orifices on it then offering it back. “Keep it.”    
  
With a quick whistle Buell trotted over and once the boy was steady on his legs Arthur mounted up then motioned for the boy to climb up, helping him on. Valentine wasn’t too far off, just further south. Only a good ten minute ride, but Arthur usually avoided coming down this way. Brought up some simpler memories of robbing banks and bar fights. The start of their downfall, he guessed. The boy who clutched him stayed quiet.    
  
“How old are you, son?”    
  
“Nn.. 14, sir.” The voice was only above a croak but a response all the same.    
  
“Remember when I was 14, those were tough times. Nobody takes you seriously but expect you to be grown all at once. Hell, probably think you are grown. Where’d you get that liquor?”    
  
“Robbed some.. Some feller for it.” Arthur was surprised by the kid’s honesty. Only could laugh.    
  
“Well, alright. Least you ain’t goin’ to hell for lyin’. Got parents in Valentine, boy?”    
  
The boy nodded slowly. “Ma works in the saloon, sir.”    
  
It would have been interesting to talk to him more. Just helping the boy out made him reminisce about the hell he found Hosea and Dutch to save him from. How lost he was back then, and how angry. There was nothing he could do for this kid, he knew that.    
  
Especially when he was limited to the mountainside, unable to delve deeper into civilization. Couldn’t walk the boy to the saloon, meet his mother, or get a stiff drink afterward. Bet he looked mighty wild in comparison to the folks below, they all had some simple look to them.    
  
He slowed down Buell when he crept closer the rock marker he left for this path.    
“Alright, this is as far as I can take you, kid.” No response. Arthur sighed. “Come on now, wake up.”    
  
The boy groaned softly and Arthur reached back to slowly ease him down. Reached into his pocket and held out another bottle of cure all and 3 dollars. “Drink this slow. Go get somethin’ to eat. And be careful out in that mountain, you hear me? There ain’t enough room in the world for troublemakers no more. Took me too long to learn that.”    
  
The boy stared up at Arthur, dim, holding the gifts he was given tightly. Only time he was able to get a proper look at him. Ugly, ragged clothes. Hair a mess and dirt in every place possible. Didn’t say thank you, didn’t say goodbye neither.    
  
Arthur didn’t point it out, didn’t force him to be grateful. Instead he just turned Buell around with a quick snap of his wrist and followed the trail up. His hat fixed rightly on his head now. Left himself to think about the past and now the present. Where he stood in the world. Conversations he’d thought he stopped needing to have, but John shoved a wrench in it. Always did, he guessed.    
  
Or something would.    
He didn’t know where he was riding to, his thoughts swarming his brain. Back in his solitude and thinking about what could be. Timing was wrong. Always was wrong. Buell did a good job of keeping them on the trail as he relaxed in the saddle. The sun rose farther up the sky to bake everything under it. Felt the trickle of sweat run down his back as he shifted in his seat. 

Buell brought him near Roanoke Ridge, close enough to Beavers Hollow that he had to slow the boy down and set his destination. He doesn’t return there too often except to remove the filth that infects itself there when the killings in the forest get too bad. Murfree Broods were real sons of bitches. Spent a lot of time burying the poor victims they strung up too. 

He neighed softly as they crossed the river and Arthur checked his ammunition stash. Lost a lot of his guns during the shitshow all those years ago, but he’s managed to replenish most of his favorites. Got a good rifle, a shotgun, and his two pistols. All he needs to take down a gang single handedly. 

When close enough through the brush and into the grungy forest he dismounted Buell and patted his neck.  “That’s a good boy. I’ll be back.” Offered him an oat cake for the trouble and even though Buell huffed he ate it in kind. 

 

The familiar hovel in the trees came into view as he walked up the incline. Decorated in gore and blood, smelled something rancid already. His technique was to always get them to come out slowly and pluck them off as quickly as he could. Like piranhas in a barrel. But something he found odd already, with his back pressed against a tree, was how quiet it was. 

 

And how little movement he saw. 

 

Arthur sighed and pulled out his binoculars to peek at what he was dealing with. And as he overlooked the camp, ignoring all the blood and guts painting the scenery, he noticed there was a lack of Murfree Broods. Alive, that was. He tucked the binoculars away and left his cover to walk up to the camp. It stayed quiet. Could hear the birds chirping overhead, wildlife shuffling from the right. Even a small fire crackling from inside the cave. An interesting lack of screaming. 

 

Arthur took a minute and looted the bodies he found, pocket change, cigarettes, and ammo. Booze too, which he decided to leave on them. 

Then there was the matter of the cave. The bodies looked semi fresh, the blood on them seeming to just start to dry. Could easily assume the person who did this left recently or were still here. 

Like the entrance of the cave the innards were cleared too. 

 

“Well, that’s one thing I don’t have to deal with.” Arthur lit one of the cigarette he pilfered off one of the dead bastards and took a sharp drag. Didn’t find himself interested enough to go farther in so he turned back. 

He expected something, someone to be there when his vision cleared from the blinding light. Expected it enough to set his hand on his holster, but no one was there. He guessed he should thank the person who did this, but it made him uncomfortable not knowing who. 

Maybe the Pinkertons came through and wiped them out but Arthur doubted it. They weren’t that good of shots.

 

He whistled and waited, taking two more drags then ditching the cigarette to mount up. 

 

“Let’s go, boy.” And Buell neighed softly as he set them off back down towards the path and down the river. He guessed he could go back to his normal routine now. All that ruckus that was caused it go all back to the day to day. Even with that ache of sadness he felt in his chest he knew he liked it this way. Less exciting, sure, but it was peaceful. A peace he’s become used to. 

John was never his his to begin with. Not Abigail’s. A wild man who never knew what he wanted. And he was humoring him like he always did. Which was ironic in a way that was embarrassing, always talked about how the rest of them babied him too much. Then here he was, doing the same.

 

The nature let him mull over these thoughts as much as he wanted to. It’d stay serene and languid as the wind pulled through the trees and the light reflected over the lake. Could sit on the docks pitying himself or reminiscing and it wouldn’t say a damn thing about what a pathetic bastard he was. It stayed quiet as his day progressed into afternoon. When he got himself food, updated his journal, worked on his minor projects. 

Guessed he should probably do another patrol before he really settled in because that anxiety deep in his stomach wouldn’t go away. 

 

Right as he stepped out the door he felt the ground shake and a loud explosion happened in the distance. 

 

His stomach sank. 

 

“ _ You’ve got to be kidding me.”  _

 

First thing that came to mind was railway workers, but then in happened  _ again.  _  And louder. 

The sky exposed them, the smoke from the blasts showing it was coming from the east. Roanoke Ridge, or right above it. A little too close to Charlotte for his liking. 

Murfree Broods taking revenge for their slaughter? He doesn’t think he’s mounted up on Buell any faster. The boy giving him some stubborn neighs but loved a challenge enough to start eating the distance. His priority was to make sure Charlotte was okay then to check on the explosion. Easy enough. 

The trip, usually taking him about 20 minutes, felt a lot shorter in his panic. All the while thanking those stupid kids for making sure he was here for this. Couldn’t imagine if he was rolling around in Blackwater and Charlotte was here— Here dead? That thought got him to rush Buell and the horse neighed. 

The house sat on the hill innocently but  _ wrong _ . It was fine in stature. Not blown to pieces, that’s for sure. But it was wrong in a way that Arthur knew he had to investigate. 

 

“Charlotte!” He called out to her, hoping she would pop out of the house with that kind face of hers. Nothing. He dismounted and rushed to the house. The windows were busted, flowers dug up. Not again. 

“Ah, shit. _No.”_ The man felt himself starting to mourn already, burying another. “Christ.” He stepped inside and looked around to the pushed over table, the opened drawers, the looted cupboards. No blood yet. He was so terrified to see blood.   
The door to her room was ajar and he stepped forward to shoved it open completely. Ransacked just as chaotically. Empty.  
  
Before he could thoroughly search the grounds the house shook with the strength of an explosion nearby. It was loud enough to feel in his chest and that alone spun him on his heels. He grabbed for the wall.   
“Fuck!” With his footing found again he rushed out onto the porch to look to the sky.  
  
Dusk was reaching over the mountains with an orange tint and smoke filled the sky. A wave of nostalgia rushed over him as the air filled with the smell of gunpowder and explosives. A smell he used to crave, how he knew it was going to be an exciting day. Now it filled him with dread.   
  
“ _Hell.”_  
  
Arthur whistled for Buell and the animal shook his head, rearing a little bit and trotting away. Rightfully scared out of it’s wits and Arthur had to run over to calm him down. In a way it was beneficial because every time he had to slowly mutter “ _It’s gonna all be alright, boy.”_ he felt his own shoulders unwind just a bit.   
  
Buell finally let him up and he yipped for him to get going with a dig of his heels but they didn’t go far. No, not far at all.   
It was down the path when three men he didn’t recognize were riding down armed to the teeth. Gave him another wave of nostalgia the way they looked at him mean. The way they shouted at him to offer up his pocket change. 

He would have laughed if he wasn’t so concerned for Charlotte and his forest. 

“Excuse me?” Buell neighed gently and he eased him into a stop. 

The fires licked at the air behind the men, blooming into something more nasty the longer they glared.

“Your money, drop it, old man.” One of them raised their rifle and aimed it. 

“Mm, alright. Here.” He kept calm, slowly reaching for his bag but instead reached for his revolver. With a quick inhale he made three calculated shots. One in the chest of the man with the rifle, second man in the head, and the third the shooting hand to disarm him. 

Happened quick, he never lost that in the years he’s been out here. 

"Ah, shit. That wasn't my wallet. My bad. Now, who are you with!?” 

 

The man just yelled in agony as he held his injured hand. Clearly trying to fumble to grab his pistol but Arthur raises his weapon in a threat.

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.” And he finally made the decision to pull out his pistol to try and get a shot in before he died but Arthur was faster. Shot him between the eyes. Watched as the body slumped off his horse and the mare whinnied and rushed off. 

 

“Damn idiot.” 

 

It didn’t end there, the farther down the trail he went the more of these strangers he found. He wasn’t sure if they were shooting first or Arthur was, but he was leaving a trail of blood behind him. They had numbers, that was for sure, which was odd. They weren’t O’driscolls and definitely no Murfree Broods. Not any army personnel neither. 

 

There was another explosion that shook the ground and Arthur headed towards it even with Buell’s protests.

 

The fire was consuming the forest faster than he liked. It became hard to traverse, having to avoid falling trees that caught aflame and bushes doing well in spreading it. The animals scurried away as fast as they could but not many would make it. Poor rabbits squealed as they rushed passed coated in flames. Buell neighed in concerned but he didn’t buck him off quite yet. 

  
Over the crackling of embers and through the billowing of smoke he finally made out some figures up ahead. They were placing more dynamite down and chucking molotovs into the thicket.   
  
“ ** _HEY,  YA BASTARDS!_** ” Arthur’s voice felt booming from his chest, loud enough for the strange men to look over. He armed himself with his rifle and shot the dynamite that they just placed. The explosion shook the ground and knocked down two trees. Killed the men surrounding it by absolutely exploding their hellish bodies to pieces. Arguably a little counter intuitive when trying to save the forest, but it accomplished killing the folks.  
  
Right as he went to be proud of himself, _that he still had it,_ he couldn’t have predicted a large branch swinging out in front of him and clothes lining him right off his horse.  
The impact was _hard_ yet the fall was harder. He cried out uselessly as the wind was knocked right out of him, vision blurred and disoriented. Pain was powerful yet dull as he focused helplessly on trying to get air back in his lungs.  
  
“Oooh! Bullseye!” Matched with familiar laughter. Figures moved around him, vultures circling him as a fresh carcass. He didn’t want to recognize the laughter, or the voice, or the face.   
  
“M-Micah.” He wheezed out, struggling to get to his feet but one of the goons pressed the barrel of their shotgun down on his chest to keep him on his back.   
  
Micah’s grin, as it came into focus, it looked so much more twisted-- Maybe it was his vision, maybe his head, or the perspective, he wasn’t sure, but it felt like he was shoved into hell.   
“Hey there, ol’ Black Lung. Long time no see!” He was bent over Arthur with his hands on his knees like catering to a dear child.   
  
“Y’know, when I saw yer letter. I just, I was so happy an old friend made it. It reminded me of all those times, times we spent together. We was brothers, you and I. Yes we was.” He only smiled at Arthur’s grimace.   
  
“Does..” Arthur tried, Micah interrupted him.   
  
“Dutch know? No.. No, when I saw it I knew you probably, uh, wouldn’t be able to face him. Not with how you left, and all, betraying Dutch like that. Dutch is my buddy! Why would I want to trouble my buddy with something so.. benign. You look great though, by the way.”   
  
“After all these years.” Arthur tried again.   
  
“After all these years.” Micah copied, smiling wryly. “It was a little, you know, embarrassing. Back on that mountain. How even then you just wouldn’t… die. And here you are now still _alive._ Like a, like a cockroach!” With that Micah pulled out one of his pistols and shot Arthur in the leg.   
  
The fiery pain was overwhelming, made him scream out and jerk away. Same god damn leg as the couple days prior. As he struggled to get up to hold his wound the barrel of the gun at his chest pushed him back down. Micah laughed at him.   
  
Could see the fire start to eat up their surroundings closer.   
  
“How _did_ you survive that, Morgan?”  
  
“Ah, _go to hell.”_   
  
He was sweating, he was in pain, still winded. Needed to keep Micah talking or he’d die here. Now, he was never scared of death, not in the end, not now either, but he didn’t want to die to Micah Bell. Not ever. He’ll take the lickings but he never wanted to give that man the satisfaction of killing him.   
  
The man kicked him right in the bullet wound and Arthur howled out in pain, panting softly. Glaring up at him.   
  
“These boys yours, Micah? Doin’, doin’ well for yourself.”   
  
There was a hesitation before Micah responded. “Hm? Oh yeah. After that whole… band of rotten, useless misfits disbanded we bulked up with some actual fire power.”  
  
“Ain’t that cute.”   
  
“Yes. It is.” Micah’s tone was flat.   
  
“So this it then, just gonna shoot me? Wastin’ Dutch’s assets comin’ down here, to kill a dead man. Blowin’ up a god damn forest for no reason.” Arthur stared at Micah, his teeth gritted in pain. Whenever the man would glance away he’d look to the lackey with the shotgun to his chest. Tried to keep calm. Think of a way out of this.   
  
“All these years and you’re still so damn cynical! Can't a man tie up some loose ends!? Do you know how satisfying it will be to see you finally shut up? Now, I’d say I’d let Dutch know you missed him, but I think this will just be between us.” His grin crooked as he cocked his pistol.   
  
_Like a knight in shining armor, he heard the familiar stomp of hooves and the buck rushed the men. Even it just running up to them it got the lackey to glance up and Arthur took the moment to grab the end of the barrel and wrenched it free. Micah yelled out in surprise and jumped back and let the poor lackey take the antlers to the ribs. The others that surrounded shouted in surprise and Arthur shot them quickly from there on the ground._ _  
_ _  
_ _The buck fully gored the man, pinned him against a burning tree and pulled to try and rip itself from the man’s innards._ _  
_ _  
_“What the fuck?” Micah was surprised that was for sure, his guns pointed at the buck.  
  
Micah didn’t shoot because Arthur’s borrowed shotgun was trained on him as he struggled to his knees. “Hope he wasn’t a close friend.” Arthur remarked.  
  
He didn’t respond right away, instead backing up. Fire. It was everywhere. Didn’t give them too much room as it spread like a panic. As he quickly lost the upper hand.   
  
_The buck freed itself, it’s glow muddled by soot and blood. It stood fully upright as the body it mangled sank to the ground._ _  
_ _  
_“Is this, is this a pet of yours, _cowpoke?”_ He laughed like it was a joke. Still backed up. Was trying not to be afraid of it.   
  
“Not a pet, no. It ain’t just fond of visitors who burn down it’s forest.”   
  
Got to see Micah’s eyes widen as the buck kicked it’s hooves. The worried smile.   
Cut short by a burning tree giving up and falling to the ground between them. Burning the air with the rest of the forest. The buck yelled out and backed off and Micah managed to avoid it narrowly.   
  
“No.” Arthur yelled out to the buck. “No, _no.”_  
  
It didn’t change it’s mind, it made the jump over the burning log and after the man who had began to run away. There was some yelling, some in panic then some in pain. Then there were 9 gunshots.   
  
“ ** _No!_** ”   
  
Arthur felt his chest seize and he gripped his shirt. The taste of metal coming up through his throat and forcing him to sputter. The air he inhaled was laden with ash and he choked on it as much as the blood.   
  
“ ** _Micah!”_** He stumbled a bit, staggering to make it to the scene, around the burning trees. To the buck. With no luck, the man had gone. Wish he got to at least see the thing gore the rat. Walking was a large struggle, feeling like a damn target practice. Felt hard to breath and with every ragged breath he took he heard the Buck wheeze in turn.   
  
This is what the mountain was warning him about. How could he have known? That his peace would be shattered so quickly, so easily. He didn’t get to ask about Charlotte-- God he didn’t know if she was okay.   
  
He stumbled to the Buck who was crying out in pain, he didn’t even know how he made it that far. His legs wobbled and he had dropped the gun when he knew Micah had really made it out alive. Which, he figured he wasn’t truly upset about. Angry at the state of the forest, of himself, of the buck, the mountain, but not that it was Micah. Just one more thing he had to quickly accept.   
  
He crumpled to the ground. The flames growing angrier.   
  
He preferred that death, the one on the top of the mountain. He wanted that one again, where he could see the sunrise. His second chance, he thought he was doing what was tasked of him. All he did was fail. The mountain was at a state of despair and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.   
  
He was alone with the buck. Both bleeding to death and soon to accept that if they don’t die from their wounds they will burn alive.   
  
John expecting him to be alive just to have to bury him again. If they’ll ever find his body.   
  
Oh god, if they ever find his body.   
  
Arthur felt suddenly defeated, his teeth gritted, bloodied, but passionate. Let out a scream that shook him. Felt like it emptied his emotions, his pain, his fear. Felt like it shook the mountain, his soul. As his voice went hoarse he coughed and wheezed and held onto the ground that spun underneath him.   
  
Blackness.   
  
Blackness that was so comforting. A weightless black numb from pain and passion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay. actually sorry for a lot of things in this chapter.


	8. We Will Say What Our Ghosts Will Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally got this done! thank you so much for everyone sticking with me. seriously, i appreciate every single one of you.

“ _Arth--”_

  
“ **-ke up!** ”

  
“ **_Arthur wake up! Please!_ ** _Oh god.”_

  
A mixture of voices. Confusion.

The blackness undressed to weary blobs. Sound that was muted now overwhelmed his senses and he couldn’t tell where he was. Why he was, who these were.

  
“M- Mic a h.” He coughed out, blood spilling from his lips. The fluid hot and messy with the rest of him. Burning pain making his entire body shake.

  
“Arthur, you’re going to be okay. Stay with us.” It was a deep voice. Arthur blinked again. Still couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.   


“What’s that he said?!” Another familiar voice, thick with a raspy accent.

Four figures looked over him.

  
Familiar warm lighting. The closeness of home. No, no it _was_ home. His small cottage. The perspective was odd, everything seemed so big, so far away. But he began to realize he was just on the ground. Surrounded by people he thought he’d never see again. John was there, Charles, Sadie, and Charlotte too.

 

He wanted to speak but when he attempted to he only wheezed and coughed, tasting hot blood on his tongue. He grimaced as he could make out their worried faces as they tried to ease him. Pain flared up as John tore at the fabric stuck to his leg. They were all speaking, shouting sometimes, but he couldn’t fully understand it. The ground feeling like it was giving under him and the pain the only thing reminding him he wasn’t gone yet. Charlotte held his head and there were tears in her eyes.

Arthur tried to tell it’d be okay, that he was glad she was safe, but he only coughed again.

He felt very tired, his eyelids falling shut despite his efforts not to. He heard a shout and when he opened his eyes again he saw John’s face close to his and jostling him to sit up and Arthur growled in pain.

“Stay with us, Morgan.” He had a bottle in his hand and set it to his lips and made Arthur drink it. Whiskey, the taste sharp and hot. He tried his best to drink as much as he could but he mostly choked on it, it running down his lips and mixing with the blood that painted his skin. John pulled the bottle away, looking into Arthur’s eyes worry stricken.

“John! Hand me the tweezers. I’ve gotta get another bullet out.” Sadie said roughly and John broke his attention to hand Sadie what she needed.

The four of them were in no means medical folk, all of this just learned from the days surviving. They hoped it’d be enough.

Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, feeling them fall and his body give up on consciousness. Blackness. Silence.

 

* * *

 

“I’m gonna find that bastard- He’s gotta be out there, _somewhere. Close_ , John. Micah made a _big_ mistake showin’ his face here.”

“I’m with you Sadie, but Arthur—“

“I can watch over him.”

Silence. It was all muffled and when Arthur tried to open his eyes he couldn’t keep them open for long. The warm glow of his lights and the figures crowding his small home.

“I’m with Sadie, John. That man has taken enough from us.”

“Fine, lets do this.” From the way John said it, it didn’t sound like he needed much convincing. There was a lot of shuffling and the door shut and opened a couple times in their rushed preparation. They spoke some more but Arthur was finding himself unable to concentrate again, only picking up bits and pieces.

However he did feel a warm hand take his own freezing hand, it gripped tight. Was calloused and strong. Arthur tried his best to open his eyes for him but he was still too exhausted, feeling his entire body still sunk into his bones and into the bed. The bed he doesn’t remember ever getting into.

“I’ll be back for you, Arthur Morgan. Don’t you die on me. Not yet, you old bastard.” His hand was squeezed one last time before the warmth left him.

Then the rest he heard was rain. Rain and sometimes shuffling from the kitchen, cans tinkering, wet footsteps, feminine humming. But mostly rain. It forced itself against the walls of the cabin and the windows.

The pain would wake him up most of the time and Charlotte was there always to force him some cure all, or food. Water. Would be constantly redressing his wounds to prevent infection. Even if Arthur couldn’t respond she would fill the room with stories.

“I’ve been getting better at fishing, you know. The other day I caught an eight pound sterling. Wish Cal was there to see it. He would have been so shocked, haha.” She sighed and leaned in the chair she had propped. “I doubt if I told anyone back home they would believe me. Even the thought of me wrangling with a fishing pole… I bet they couldn’t get their minds around it, but none of them really know what it’s like to survive.

I didn’t either. Before you came around and gave me hope. A part of me died that day with him, but you showed me I didn’t have to be in the ground next to him.”

Arthur weakly reached over and patted her hand that rested on the bed near him and she blinked in surprise.

“Just,” He coughed a bit, grimacing, “glad you’re okay.” She took his hand in hers and patted it.

“You’re cold, Arthur. Let me get you another blanket.”

She left him and next he felt another weight from a blanket pulled over him and she tucked him in.

“I lost my home, Arthur.” She said over him.

Arthur was quiet for a moment or two, guilt sinking into his bones. “Sorry to hear that.” He could hardly manage out the words.

“I recovered a couple things of ours, before it burned completely. I… He loved that home. He was so proud of it.”

She sat back down. “If I hadn’t been fishing that day, I’d be gone with it.”

Arthur shut his heavy eyes for a moment, exhaling then coughing a little. Pain glaring back up even despite his numbed senses from the cure all.

“How’d… how’d you find me?” He rasped out.

“Mister Marston said he heard you scream. He had his friends with him and they pulled you from the road. Thought you’d bleed out before you reached the house— It was Sadie who didn’t give up on you, the rest of us thought you were gone. She is.. She is a wonderful woman.”

“Where’d they gone off?”

“To find that person— Uhm. This Micah fellow, I didn’t really have time to ask. But I assume he caused all of this

Arthur groaned lowly and sighed out. “Fuckin’ idiots. Gonna get themselves killed.”

Charlotte went quiet and lowered her head, Arthur watched her.

“You should rest,” she finally spoke up. “You have a long way to getting better.”

He grunted and shut his eyes again. Could’ve probably argued that he’s had enough sleep, but exhaustion still wore at him. It came easy and he was out again. Rain still hit the cabin in a steady background.

The rain made it hard to decipher the days, he truly couldn’t tell how long he was out. It seemed to be raining for weeks. Could’ve been months. No matter, Arthur didn’t die. He was shot enough times to give a man lead poisoning, but here he was, surviving.

He was bedridden, . He hasn’t been fully out of commission since the illness years back. Made him feel weak and useless, especially when the mountain seemed to be _crying_. The inhabitants without their homes. Arthur truly didn’t care about getting vengeance against Micah, the man meant nothing to him. There’d always be evil, but he knew there was work to be done to help the ones suffering from it all. Vengeance was useless against what truly mattered. If Arthur said that to the Arthur from ten years ago he assumed he'd get punched in the throat.

 

The day Arthur was able to stand out of bed was the day the rain stopped. Each day was a struggle, but just like the years before he didn’t stop getting stronger. With hard work, patience, and Charlotte’s help he was getting back on his feet. Once he started to stabilize she was less frequently staying at the cabin, instead taking the time to work on her home. Or what was left of it. When Arthur was strong enough to hold a hammer he spent most of his time there too.

John hadn’t returned, neither did Sadie, nor Charles. The reality of that felt bitter on his tongue, but he knew he wasn’t strong enough to go searching for them yet. That didn’t stop him from seeing their shot up, bloodied bodies in his dreams. Some days Arthur's voice would feel hoarse from the amount of times he woke up yelling.

In lighter news, Charlotte’s home was fixed up a lot quicker with Arthur’s help, broken body and all. Their combined teamwork restoring the house that was lost. Charlotte cried when she could sleep in it again. While a lot still needed to be done to make it “home”, she was just grateful it was upright. Held furniture in it. Protected her from the weather. 

 

There hasn’t been any signs of the buck since the incident.

 

Arthur filled all of his uncertainty with actions, things he could control. Going to the unfortunate bastards who lost their homes and rebuilding. Charlotte and him made a great duo in bringing life back to the small community of the mountain again. For the first time Arthur was ever seen more than a myth and even if he wasn’t able to prevent the fire he was able to help heal the aftermath. The legend of the mountain there to support the ill-fated. The smarter ones thanked him, the weak prayed to him. 

“They’ve been gone for a long time.” Charlotte mentioned offhandedly as she looked off into the wilderness. Knife in hand as she skinned a fresh kill in the grass.

Arthur gripped the stick he had been using as a crutch and slowly crouched down near her. Felt the warmth of the sun over his skin. He looked back at her, “Yeah. It has been.”

She smiled softly as she shucked away the pelt from the carcass, “I’m.. I’m sure they’re okay.” She was saying it for Arthur’s sake.

After too long he stood back up with a short grimace and tried to laugh. “Appreciate the optimism. They ain’t comin’ back. Might go up North and see if I can find a couple a frozen fools. Bury em if I find em. If the wolves ain’t done the work for me.”

Charlotte pulled the last of the pelt off and rolled it up. Her smile creased back into a frown, a bit taken off guard by Arthur’s attitude towards his friends. “Are you sure you’d be able to make the trip?”

The question alone reminded him of his pain and he rubbed at his shoulder a bit. “I’ll be fine. Don’t intend on bein’ out there for too long anyhow. Just a day or two.”

 

It didn’t end up being a day or two. When he got up there the cold made the pain a lot worse than it did down south. He had to make more stops than he wanted to, take the mountain slower than he wanted to. Buell enjoyed the challenge every step of the way, taking the snow in stride like Hamish always seemed proud of him for. Arthur praised the beast every step of the way and offered plenty of oat cakes for the hard work. He didn't know if comforting the horse was more beneficial to the boy or to himself.

The mountain was quiet. Void of anything interesting except memories and ghosts. He brushed by the land just down the mountain to see if there was anything he could figure there. Arthur found nothing. He didn’t know if that was good or bad,  but not knowing he didn’t realize he had been holding a stress between his shoulders until he confirmed he had no bodies to bury.

Acceptance. He felt acceptance yet the pain didn’t go away. Arthur fell upon Colter before he left. He didn’t get off his horse as he slowly rode through it. Remembering how it was. As it all went to shit. The botched Ferry job. Davey's death. John gettin’ eaten up by those beasts, finding Kieran in the snow. Saving Sadie from those Odriscolls. Hunting with Charles.

One last night in the snow then he headed back. The winds howled as they pushed at Buell and him. The pain in his body flaring up, the health cures he was hopped up on hardly doing a damn thing in the blistering chill, and Alcohol only made him sleepy. It made him regret his trip, only answering a question he knew the answer for the moment they all left.

 

Arthur wanted to bury himself in solitude.

 

The rest of the family he had left… Oh God, little Jack. Abigail. When Arthur remembered he was absolutely horrified. Boy would grow up without a father now. After all that work to get them out. To make sure they’d be okay. Arthur had to deal with that reality that he didn’t just lose the only things important to him- A ghost, Arthur Morgan, who should have been **DEAD**  - Let the ones who should have stayed **ALIVE** DIED.

Why did he survive the fire? How did he survive ten bullet wounds? Why was he still on this mountain?

The man was hardly steering Buell, letting the horse lead him to where ever. The beast decided to take him home.

John, arguably dumb as a rock, had managed to mature. Had taken his advice to heart over those seven years, tried his damnedest to be that family man. Flawed, still, selfish, yes, but he was clearly trying. In that way that was better than anything.

Sadie, she was stronger than ever, hardly a ghost anymore, finding a purpose with every strength she had.

Charles, Hell, he couldn’t quite say, and it angered him that he wasn’t able to know. One of the best men he knew.

And Arthur stayed alive.

 

The cabin came up quickly, back to the warmth of early fall.

The lake peaceful. The night was warm. Welcomed after the freeze of the Northern Grizzlies. And when Arthur got off his horse, he saw a soft glow by the docks. A short chill in the air when he saw the figure of a thing he hasn’t seen in he doesn’t know how long.

He was shocked first, angry second. He picked up a stone and approached the thing slowly.

 

_It lapped up at the lake water then raised its beautiful head. The glow gorgeous under the moonlight and allowed Arthur to see its scarred, butchered pelt._

 

Arthur dropped the stone.

 

_“The cycle of nature can’t be broken. With life there is death and with death there is life. As a protector of this land you sit somewhere in between, and you continue to prove to the land your worth.”_

 It was Hosea’s voice clear in the air, and just hearing it made Arthur go blank. The grief overpowering him once again.

“The _hell_ does that mean!?” He was shouting but it wasn’t angry.

 

_“Arthur Morgan. Death will only come to you when you truly are ready. When the mountain no longer needs you.”_

“Oh, _fuck off!_ To hell with you!” He picked up the stone again and chucked it at the Buck.

 

_It flinched and ran off quickly. Into the woods. The air lost its electricity and chill._

 

Arthur fell to his knees and his shoulders slumped. His body ached in the back of his mind. He felt old, he felt tired. The words that it said were chilling, and made him realize something. That made him realize that he wasn’t really ready sitting up on that rock, dying and hoping John was safe. He selfishly wanted to be there, how could he not want to be there with his family? He said he wasn’t scared of death, but he was terrified.

The stupid Buck, it felt like a curse more than anything. That he’d have to outlive his family and friends, mourn for every damn person he knew and nothing to stop his aging. He said it when he was dying back then, but now he truly did feel like a ghost.

He didn’t have the will to cry but he did slowly stand with trouble to take himself to bed.

 

Months passed slower than any months he’s ever felt. Through the calm winter into an easy spring. Charlotte understood his pain and every time she had free time she would invite him for dinner. Visit the graves he set up for them. Feed him even when he didn’t feel like eating.

Made him feel less alone.

It was particularly sunny one day, while it had been on and off raining for the last month. The mountain felt like it was in grief with him in a subtle way. Allowing the inhabitants to survive. Let the plants to thrive, the animals plentiful. A bittersweet season. Flooding when Arthur felt his worst, the sun swinging when Arthur felt acceptance. An odd spiritual tie to the ground.

Arthur finished up with helping Charlotte set up a new addition to her chicken coop. The foxes were being cruel and already snatched two of her chickens. She treated him with company and some fresh fruit. Non-poisonous berries, a fish she caught too. He thanked her and took his leave back to his lonely cabin by the lake.

 

When he got there, however. A strange wagon sat near it. Panic set in a little, He didn’t like surprises, especially out here. He equipped his trusty sawed off and Buell and him approached slowly. Arguing was overheard. Voices he knew. And Arthur was quick to hop off his horse.

 

**“** **_Who goes there!?”_ **Arthur managed in his loudest, most intimidating voice he could muster.

The voices hushed and Arthur stepped around the wagon.

Abigail, Jack, John, Sadie, Charles, and Uncle.

Abigail immediately started crying the moment she saw him, ugly sobs racking her. And hell, Arthur felt himself choking up at just the sight of her too.

“ _Arthur Morgan.”_ She said between sobs and rushed to him, accepted the punch he got to his chest (which actually hurt with his injuries), then pulled her in a tight hug. He spun her round and didn’t feel like letting go.

He did have to peel her away unfortunately, but it was to go to John next, grabbing him and pulling him in a tighter hug. John laughed and hugged him back. They all were all chittering and lively. Excited to all see each other. Arthur was happiest.

Uncle was the loudest with, “I was sure John was pulling my leg!” Then made more stupid comments that Arthur couldn’t be bothered to listen to. Or process. He was too shocked.

Jack was rubbing his eyes and Arthur went to him next. Sadie, Charles and John arguing with Uncle. Abigail still trying to get herself together.

“You,” Arthur ruffled Jacks hair. “Have gotten _big.”_

The words got Jack sniffling, he knew the boy was trying to be strong, and Arthur chuckled then brought him into a hug too. It felt kind of like a dream. It was too amazing.

“Where did you go?” Jack asked. And while he was big now, it made him sound innocent.

“Seems I got lost. Glad your daddy found me.” He knocked Jacks chin and got him to smile.

“Hey, we’re here too, you know.” Sadie said firmly. When he looked over she was smiling. Had a bit of a hunch, but still held herself tough.

Of course Arthur went over and offered his hand, she shook it with a tighter grip than any. Laughed with him.

He turned to Charles and patted the man on the shoulder, he did the same. An affectionate brotherhood. "Missed you."  
"Missed you." Arthur returned.

After Arthur regarded every single one of them, sans Uncle, he stepped back.

“Now what the _hell_ happened?”

“Woah, now!!” Uncle piped up. “I don’t get a hug!?”

Arthur looked over the man, then dramatically rolled his eyes. “Ah, you’re here too, huh? Almost missed ya.” He opened his arms and Uncle went over and grabbed ahold of him to bear hug him.

Arthur kind of just patted him, laughing at the awkwardness of it all.

“Just saving the best for last, I understand.” Uncle laughed.

“Oh, yeah. That’s what I was doin’. Smell you haven’t bathed since the last time I saw you.”

Uncle pulled back and shoved at him, “Well look at yourself. It's gettin' close to huntin' season, you know, Mister Morgan.”

They both laughed softly. He missed this. Oh god how he missed this.

Sadie cut through the mood immediately. Her voice enthusiastic.

“We got him, Arthur. We got him.” She didn’t have to say who.

Arthur blinked. “Shit, start from the beginnin'. Here, er, come inside- Or,” He thought. The damn shack couldn’t fill more than three people comfortably. “John, Charles. Help me get a fire going.”

They all caught up as they took the time to set up a fire. It didn’t take too long, but Arthur learned a lot. John made that rock farm into a proper ranch. Got animals on it and everything. Jack and Abigail made their way back. Charles time in Saint Denis, his travels and search for his purpose. Sadie’s bounty hunting business. The books Jack had been reading.

“It’s all he damn does. Read and read.” John had mentioned, bitterly of all things.

Arthur was quick to shut him down. “Wouldn’t kill you to pick up the habit. He’s got uncle Hosea in him. Don’t you, Jack?”

“Yessir.” He said a little anxiously. Probably not even knowing what he was answering.

John sighed.

“So wanna explain to me why it took you six months to damn visit? I thought you's were all dead. I’ve got three graves up North.” And while he had previously been cheerful, It properly left his voice.

None of them spoke up for a couple seconds.

“Well,” John started.

“We didn’t want to come back to you until we killed the bastard.” Sadie finished.

It went all a little quiet, the fire between them all crackling.

“And, uh. Dutch knows- He knows about you.” John admitted. “I don’t know if he’s going to—“

“He ain’t gonna do shit.” Arthur said flatly.

“How do you know that?” Sadie asked.

“It was stupid of you to go after him.”

John blinked. “Wha? Arthur- What he damn did to you, _twice—“_

_"_ And? Would it do any good for Abigail n Jack for you to go off and get yourself killed? You’re lucky you didn’t.”

“If I recall, that's what I was sayin'!" Abigail chipped in.

“See, she’s the only one with any brains around here. Jack? You listen to your damn mother, y’hear me? She’s always right.”

Jack nodded. “Okay, uncle Arthur.”

“Well, he’s dead now! Would appreciate a thank you, or any of the sort.” John sneered.

Arthur chuckled. “Alright, thank you, John. You will always be a dumb, stupid idiot. And I’m equally disappointed at the rest a you for promotin’ him.”

Sadie got real agitated, “Thought you’d be happy, seein’ as we—“

He interrupted her, “I _am happy,_ happy you’re all in one piece. Never asked you to go after Micah, now did I? Stop tryin’ to get yourselves killed.”

“With all respect, Arthur,” Charles spoke up. “But you would have done the same for us.”

That made him pause. Rub at his face. Shrug a little. A bit speechless.

“Well, maybe that’s because I’m a dumb, stupid idiot too.”

 

That lightened the mood again, bittersweet and Abigail got to sniffling again.

“This a damn pity party! Enough a this. I’ve got plenty of booze.” Uncle piped up.

“No surprise there.” Arthur said.

They all drank, sans little Jack. John even offered him some and got a harsh smack from Abigail. The boy still seemed to have fun. All of them catching up and sharing stories of what’s happened over the seven years they’ve all missed each other. Jack and Abigail went to bed earliest. They were about to fetch bedrolls from the wagon before Arthur stopped them and directed them inside. She hugged him again after he set it all up.

She offered her hand to him after, showing him something special that sit so perfectly on her finger. The ring Mary returned to him before his end. He couldn’t believe John kept it. Or put it to use.

“He really did it.” Arthur said, didn’t quite have any particular tone to it.

She nodded hurriedly. “Uhuh. He promised under God”

“About time. Was hopin' he'd man up at some point. Only took him 12 years.” He didn’t mention the significance of the ring. He just patted her shoulder and ushered her off to bed. He knew John was never his, and while he knew he wasn’t truly Abigail’s, he was proud of him to finally listen. To be that one single person he told him to be. He was glad it was someone who could be a father.

When he came back to the fire they were all talking about Micah again. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Arthur.” John piped up, pulled out a revolver. Looked somewhat familiar. Easy to fill in the dots. Micah's.

“Hah, I don’t want this. Got bad luck written all over it.”

John chuckled, “Like it won’t be satisfying to know he’s frozen dead on a mountain top somewhere. Keep it.”

He bit his lip, shrugged, then snatched it to inspect the damn thing with a wrinkled nose. “Alright, but if I get hexed, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

 

“So,” Sadie brought up, “You really think Dutch won’t finish what he started?”

“Naw. You think that'd man would kill me himself? Doubt he'd ever even come to see me."

“Spared me, too. He’s… changed a lot since it all. It was like, I dunno. Starin’ at someone else up on that mountain.” John offered.

Arthur shrugged. “I’m someone else too.” He scratched at his beard. “People change, or maybe find whatever's inside them. But no matter what, I’ll still miss the old days. In the west. The warm desert. All of you by my side before it went to shit. Before Micah Bell. I’ve come to, hm, _accept_ my life here. Maybe even love it.  But what I wouldn’t do for one last time to see it. Feel that hot, blistering sun. Ride into an endless sea of rock and tough dirt. Where things were simple with shit I could understand.” They all stayed quiet while Arthur spoke. Nursing their beers.

“As long as I got those memories. I think I’ll be okay️.” He sniffed and rubbed some more at his face.

When he was done, they all stayed silent. All for their own reasons. Mulling over everything. Drinking. Staring into the fire.

It wasn’t until Uncle spoke up was when they got to talking again. While Uncle was pretty damn annoying, but he was a great icebreaker. Got everyone mad, but laughing again. And he really didn’t realize how much he missed their laughs the most.

It was a long time until the rest of them fell asleep. Arthur and John still awake. The sun peeking up through the trees. The man set a hand over John’s shoulders, their silence speaking enough. The younger man had something to say and Arthur waited until he could get it out.

 

“I uh, I proposed- Er..”

“I know.” Arthur rubbed at his back. “I’m happy for you, for the _both of you._ I mean that. I’m proud a you. Could have asked me before using my ring though.”

John blinked and straightened up, “Ah, hell. I didn’t think-“

“I’m joking, Marston. Calm yourself.”

“Right.” He exhaled.

“You better keep visiting me. Promise me that.”

John nodded. “Til I die, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur smiled and pulled John over to give him a proper side hug. John leaned into him. An intimate amount of affection that Arthur missed. He thumbed over his shoulder with a small, secret rhythm.

Arthur would continue to watch over the mountain. John would continue to visit. Small adventures felt big and large ones felt small. And maybe he did fit himself as being a myth. A small story encrypted in the mountain. Sharing it’s space in its greatness. The buck stayed with him. Whenever Arthur had no one, it was there. It would never speak to him again. But he no longer needed it to.

 

Charles ended up joining him for awhile, creating a chapter in the man’s life. And Arthur tried it to laugh at the irony as his friends sharing nearly the same name. Loved them both equally as close as he got to both of them. Charlotte welcomed Charles as easily as she did Hamish. Taught her tricks that he didn't even know. Helped them improve in everything great. Would go off from time to time just to treat Arthur with things he couldn't get from being stuck on the mountain.

 

Arthur created a peace for himself, and the inhabitants. He never asked for this yet gave everything purpose. Nature sickeningly sweet. Death, life, everything in between, all a chain that Arthur Morgan embraced. And even when Arthur felt like he couldn't continue, when he wouldn't die, he found out there were always a reason why he kept going. He was the mountain until someone else were worthy, and that wouldn't be for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont think about red dead 1 because then youll cry like i am. its supposed to be a happy ending god damn it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of an odd au that i hatched up. A whole plot for this and everything. Big warning, it will be a little bit before theres any marston/arthur interaction and still trying to figure out dynamics and all that. BUT CAN I GET SOME GOD DAMN /FAITH/. I implore comments and suggestions. thank you for reading!


End file.
